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UM-M — HURRY UP WITH YOUR PUDDING 


Illllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllillllllll 

WHEN JEAN 
AND I WERE 
SOPHOMORES 

.»> 

JULIA AUGUSTA SCHWARTZ 
Author of 

“Beatrice Leigh at College 99 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

BY 

ADA C. WILLIAMSON 


THE PENN PUBLISHING 
| COMPANY PHILADELPHIA 
1918 

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COPYRIGHT 
1918 BY 
THE PENN 
PUBLISHING 
COMPANY 



OCT 31 1918 

When Jean and I Were Sophomores 


©CI.A508004 


Author’s Note 


By courtesy of the editors of the Youth’s 
Companion, three of the chapters included in 
this book have been remodeled from stories 
already published in that magazine. 


\ 



Contents 


I. 

The Inseparable Sophomores 

• 

• 

9 

II. 

Emily’s Invitations 

• 

• 

3 1 

III. 

Jean’s Antipathy 

• 


50 

IV. 

Pursuer and Pursued . 

• 

• 

72 

V. 

The Tongue Is a Fire 

• 

• 

92 

VI. 

Flunk Notes 

• 

• 

112 

VII. 

Everybody’s Different . 

• 

• 

126 

VIII. 

Semester Bills 

• 

• 

*44 

IX. 

Elizabeth’s Mistake . . 

• 

ft 

172 

X. 

The First Choice in Doubles 

• 

ft 

198 

XI. 

The Mysterious Freshman 

• 

• 

222 

XII. 

The Tyrant 

• 

• 

235 

XIII. 

The Proud Girl . 

• 

• 

257 

XIV. 

This Queer World 

• 

• 

2 77 

XV. 

The Kleptomaniac • • 

• 

• 

294 

XVI. 

In the Library . • « 

• 

• 

3 11 


5 




















Illustrations 


“ Um-m — Hurry Up With Your 

PAGE 

Pudding ” 

. Frontispiece v ' 

“ Read It, Please ” ... 

. 86 

u Why Did I Ever Do It ? ” 

• 194 

“ Where Is My Sister ? ” 

• • 253 

“You Have the Craziest Notions!” 

• • 283 


When Jean and I Were Sophomores 

























t 



























When Jean and I Were 
Sophomores 


I 

THE INSEPARABLES 

Jean and I have been best friends from the 
very first day of our freshman year. I liked 
her as soon as I saw her standing in the middle 
of the vestibule, her hat still on her head, her 
bag in her hand, while she watched the flurry 
of girls passing in and out and rushing with 
little shrieks of welcome to fall on each others’ 
necks. Jean looked as if she had forgotten all 
about herself because she was so interested in 
everybody else. That was the first reason why 
I picked her out to be my best friend. 

She said afterward that the reason why she 
liked me at first sight was because I looked so 
shy and sweet when I asked her if she would 
care to be shown the way to the office. Though 
I have always hated to be called sweet by 
strangers, as if that were the only quality 
9 


io When "Jean and I Were Sophomores 

worth noticing in me, I was glad of anything 
that pleased Jean. She seemed so lovely, with 
her shining eyes and flushed cheeks and long 
dark braid with a curl at the end, that I was 
afraid all the other girls would want her for a 
best friend. 

And just think! Before the beginning of 
November, we had been nicknamed the Insep- 
arable Freshmen. We were together every 
spare minute because we had so much to say 
to each other about everything. Luella tried 
to separate us at the table for the sake of the 
common good and general conversation, she 
said. But nobody enjoyed sitting between us, 
though we were particular not to talk across in 
front of her, whoever she happened to be. We 
always leaned back and talked behind her. 
Really we were not selfish. Whenever we saw 
girls watching us wistfully while we were out 
walking, or sitting on the stairs to argue, or 
fooling in the corridors, or waiting for each 
other to come from recitation or to go to chapel 
or to the dining-room, we smiled at them and 
sometimes invited the lonely ones to take their 
ex 1 with us. 


1 Of course this stands for “ exercise. 1 


The Inseparables \ 1 

In the spring, when the students select rooms 
for next year, J ean and I drew eleventh choice 
in doubles, and managed by trading with two 
juniors to secure a study suite with walls 
tinted green. During the summer we were 
busy writing letters and fixing over pillows 
and pincushions and things to harmonize with 
the walls. Once, after going to a bargain-sale 
in cretonnes, Jean suggested that it might be 
more convenient and cheaper to do the rooms 
in hues of violet, indigo, blue, green, yellow, 
orange, red, and hang a name in the transom: 
The Rainbow Retreat . But I was afraid that 
the effect would not be very restful. When I 
reminded her how hard sophomores need to 
work until they have a chance to elect a snap 
course in the second semester, she agreed to 
change the cretonne (it really was a bargain) 
for some plain green curtains. 

At last September arrived. When I real- 
ized that college was to open in three weeks, I 
had my trunk carried up-stairs, and began to 
pack. Though the rest of the family made 
fun of my beginning so soon, events proved 
my wisdom. I practised packing and repack- 
ing so often that I succeeded finally in getting 


1 2 When yean and I Were Sophomores 

everything in and still had some space left to 
hold a present for Jean. I wanted to buy her 
either a clock or a Greek statue, both of which 
we needed for our new study. 

One evening a newspaper announcement of 
a special sale of statuary in our largest depart- 
ment store helped me to decide upon the gift. 
I jumped out of bed before six the next morn- 
ing, and hurried down-town so as to be there 
when the sale commenced. Though I was 
nearly pushed over the banisters in the wild 
rush for the basement, I caught sight of a 
Winged Victory on the fifty-cent table, and 
managed to reach it first. All the others like 
it were on the dollar table. One woman who 
saw me hugging it in my arms smiled sympa- 
thetically, and said it was too bad the statue 
was broken. When I told her that all plaster 
casts of the Victory of Samothrace were made 
without heads because the original statue was 
headless when it was discovered and dug up 
not many years ago, she blushed so red that I 
was sorry I had caused her to feel ignorant. 
J ean would have been sorry, too. 

Imagine how exultingly I flew home to show 
my bargain to the family! There is certainly 


The Inseparables 13 

one happiness that a millionaire and his wife 
can never, never know. That is the delicious 
joy of racing through autumn streets with a 
real bargain in one’s arms, such as a pair of 
four-dollar shoes for sixty-nine cents, or a ten- 
dollar hat marked down to $1.99, or a plaster 
Victory worth two dollars and seventy-five 
cents. Honestly, that is what Luella paid for 
hers, exactly the same size. And I paid only 
fifty cents for mine! 

Dashing into the house, I called Mother and 
was just untying my precious parcel when the 
postman’s whistle sent me dancing to the door. 
He handed me a letter from Jean. Tearing 
open the envelope on the way, I darted back 
to the Victory, not sure which I wanted to do 
first, to unwrap her or to read it. 

This was the letter. 

“ Dear Nancy: 

“ I hope you won’t mind if I decide not 
to go back to college this year. You can 
easily find another girl to share the double in 
place of me. I will be glad to let her use my 
desk and lamp and rug. When you pass 
through this town on your way back, I will 
give you the green pillows and things that I 
have been making. At a sale I found some 


14 W hen Jean and I W zre Sophomores 

cups that will harmonize with, your sugar-bowl. 
I will think of you every afternoon that the 
girls are likely to drop in for tea with you. 
You must tell me every single thing you do. 
A year seems an awfully long time to get rid 
of, but probably the rest will do me good, 
especially as nothing exciting ever happens 
here. I am going to explain to Mother that 
college life is over-stimulating for the girls. 
You see, I have not yet told her that I have 
decided to stay home. Yesterday evening I 
heard her saying to the minister’s wife that she 
missed me every minute during the college 
year, and counted the days till vacation. She 
said that life was not worth living without me. 
So of course I can’t go back. My father died 
when I was a baby. So I am all the family 
she has now. But you have eleven hundred 
and eighty other girls at college. Lots of them 
will be crazy to room with you. I hope green 
will be becoming to her, whoever she happens 
to be. Good-bj^e, Nancy. And don’t — oh, 
please, please don’t argue with me! I can’t 
leave my mother alone again, and that is all 
there is to it. Jean. 

“ P. S. Dear Nancy, why can’t you start 
for college early enough to stop and visit me 
on the way? I miss you.” 

When my mother had finished unknotting 


Hhe Inseparables 15 

the string that had tied the wrappings on the 
Victory, she glanced at me. She must have 
thought I looked queer, for she jumped up and 
clutched my arm, exclaiming, “ Nancy, what 
is it? Sit down, dear.” 

But of course I was in too much of a hurry 
to sit down till I had found a pen and a sheet 
of paper to write an answer to Jean. My 
hand was shaking. It really was. 

“ Dear Jean: 

“ It is perfect nonsense for you to stay 
home this year. It will ruin your whole future 
career and spoil everything. Don’t you re- 
member the woman who said that she had been 
forced by ill health to leave college in her 
sophomore year, and it had been the regret of 
her life? I am not going to argue with you, 
since you have begged me not to, though that 
very fact shows the doubt in your own mind 
concerning the wisdom of this dreadful step. 
But I must certainly warn you of the con- 
sequences. If you do not finish at college, you 
will never have a degree. Without a degree, 
you cannot teach in any high school that pays 
good salaries. Without a good salary, you 
will not be able to relieve your mother of money 
worries. If you decide to marry, very likely 
your husband will be a university man with a 


1 6 W hen Jean and I W ere S ophomores 

degree, while you are his intellectual inferior, 
for three years of study surely has some effect 
on a girl’s brain. You can never belong to a 
branch of the Association of Collegiate 
Alumnse and go to their teas and luncheons, 
though they will let you help with Settlement 
work and so on anyhow. Lastly you will miss 
all the fun. Oh, Jean, you shall not stay home. 
I won’t let you stay home even if I have tt> drag 
you by the hair. If you feel so bad about 
leaving your mother alone, why not take her 
with you? ” 

Here I laid down my pen so that I could 
clap my hands over this idea which had that 
instant appeared in my mind and on the paper 
at the same moment. 

“ Mother! ” I exclaimed. “ Listen! I have 
just thought of the best scheme. Why can’t 
Mrs. Dickinson pack up and go to board in 
one of the cottages near the college grounds? 
She could see Jean every day, when we go out 
to ex, and we could take her to the Friday 
evening concerts and lectures. She might 
come to chapel after dinner every night, if she 
is not afraid to walk back in the dark. Once 
in a while we could get her an invitation to a 
chapter play. If she cares to come to Sunday 


17 


The Inseparables 

suppers in our rooms, or sometimes to dinner 
in the dining-room, she will have the loveliest 
time ! The girls will pet her a lot, because she 
will be almost the only mother handy. And 
she could darn ” 

My mother said: “ Oh, yes! ” in a tone that 
made me more enthusiastic than ever. My 
mother never throws cold water — at least, not 
right away. She waited until I had shaken 
my pen to finish the letter by adding another 
page about my idea. 

Then she said, sort of musingly: “ Life in a 
strange boarding-house is lonely sometimes. 
Do you think Mrs. Dickinson might miss her 
old friends? ” 

“ Why,” I exclaimed, astonished, “ she will 
have Jean.” 

My mother said: “ Oh, do sophomores have 
more time than freshmen? Last year you and 
Jean were so busy that you could barely spare 
an hour to write a mid-week letter home. You 
used to complain that your only opportunity 
to be sociable was at meals.” 

“ And when we go walking for ex,” I added. 

“ Ah, yes, when you go walking for ex. 
You mean that Mrs. Dickinson could accom- 


18 When Jean and I Were Sophomores 

pany you on such occasions. But I had an 
impression that the students take their hour of 
ex in the gymnasium three days of the week. 
On the other days sometimes you and Jean 
might prefer to play tennis or ride your wheels 
instead of walking. You see, it is possible that 
Jean’s mother might still be a little lonely even 
if she should pack up and go to board near the 
college. She might miss her old friends at 
home.” 

“ She will have Jean,” I repeated, but I felt 
otherwise than I sounded, for — alas! — I have 
an open mind, and realized the reasonableness 
of my mother’s remarks. 

“ The only time I have you,” said my 
mother, “ even when you are at home in sum- 
mer with no studies to occupy your wak- 
ing hours, is at meals. But Jean’s mother 
won’t see her from morning to night, some 
days.” 

“ She will if J ean and I live in the same 
house with her,” I replied like a flash, as the 
idea popped into my head. “ We can rent a 
cottage off the campus, and Mrs. Dickinson 
can keep house for us ” 

“ Off the campus ! ” exclaimed my mother. 


' The Inseparables 19 

“ Why, Nancy! You are willing to give up 

the dormitory life ” 

Her voice stopped, leaving the sentence 
broken in the air, while I thought about dormi- 
tory life. It is fun, you know, to live in the 
same building with three hundred other girls, 
eating together, and running into each other’s 
rooms in our kimonos in the evening, and hav- 
ing a right to loiter around in the corridors and 
drawing-rooms. Girls who live off the campus 
generally look uncomfortable when they wan- 
der around between classes. There is a special 
study-room for the day students down on the 
first floor of the recitation-hall. I glanced in 
once last year and saw six or seven girls sitting 
around with their coats on the backs of their 
chairs. It made me feel homesick, because they 
looked as if they felt left out of everything. 

I thought of this scene, and then I thought 
of living in our green double without Jean. 

“ Yes, Mother,” I answered her, “ I am will- 
ing to give it all up if that is the only way to 
keep Jean at college.” 

Then my mother kissed me, and said, “ Oh, 
Nancy, Jean will never let you do it, darling. 
It would be too much of a sacrifice.” 


20 When "Jean and I W zre Sophomores 

“ You don’t understand, Mother,” I told 
her. “ If you knew Jean, you would under- 
stand which way would be the sacrifice.” 

My mother, after beginning to say again 
that Jean would never consent, changed her 
mind and thought for a few minutes. (I in- 
herit my reasonableness from her.) When 
she had finished thinking, she suggested that it 
might be easier to persuade Jean if I should 
talk to her in person, instead of writing. So 
we decided that I would start east as soon as I 
could get ready (it was lucky that I had 
practised packing my trunk), and stop off to 
visit Jean and her mother in plenty of time 
for them to make new plans after listening 
to me. 

And what do you think! . Jean had not yet 
told her mother even by the time I arrived in 
their town on my way back to college. The 
very first thing Mrs. Dickinson said was: “ So 
this is Nancy ! ” The second thing was : “ Per- 
haps now my little scatter-brain daughter will 
begin to pack her trunk in earnest.” 

It is possible that the pupils of my eyes 
dilated in amazement. At least, I conjectured 
as much from the way she smiled and said. 


The Inseparables 21 

“ Isn’t it customary to pack a trunk before 
starting on a journey? ” And Jean nudged 
me just in time to remind me to shut my mouth 
without uttering a comment that might betray 
my emotions. 

That evening when we were brushing our 
hair, Jean explained that she was still watch- 
ing for a good chance to tell her mother about 
her decision not to return to college. She 
thought the best time to do it would be when- 
ever her mother should admit that she dreaded 
the prospect of spending the winter alone. 
Mrs. Dickinson was so afraid of spoiling Jean’s 
pleasure in college that she was careful not to 
say much about missing her except when she 
was talking to strangers, as on the occasion 
mentioned in Jean’s letter. Jean knew that 
it would take hours of arguing to persuade her 
to consent to the plan. She said she worried 
all the time about it. 

Then I proposed my scheme. At first J ean 
would not listen to a word of it. But after I 
had cried a little, and talked a lot, she said 
maybe it would be better than staying home, if 
I really meant that I should be happier living 
with her in a cottage off the campus than with- 


22 When yean and I W zre Sophomores 

out her in a dormitory. She hugged me hard 
when she kissed me good-night. 

The next morning, while Jean packed the 
trays of her trunk, I sat on the floor beside her, 
and jotted down the points to be emphasized 
in convincing Mrs. Dickinson. When the 
post-carrier blew his whistle, Jean ran to the 
door, and came back with three letters : one for 
her mother, one for her, and one forwarded 
from home for me. 

Jean’s letter was from Luella. We read it 
together. It was mostly about a set of en- 
gaged signs that she was making to hang on 
all our doors as successive emergencies re- 
quired. For instance, a picture of a girl with 
her eyes closed and the word Asleep written 
beneath and underscored meant that no caller 
would be welcome. A picture of a girl hold- 
ing a book, and inscribed Engaged, meant that 
the occupant of the room did not wish to be 
disturbed. Another picture of the same girl, 
but this time clutching her hair, and labeled 
Absolutely Engaged, indicated a more in- 
tense desire for solitude. Other signs an- 
nounced Out, In, Enter, Knock, and so on 
according to conditions. 


! The Inseparables 23 

Luella also wrote that she had invented a 
new system for progressive seating at our table 
so that every girl could have a chance to sit next 
to every other girl for one week at a time. 
She said if Jean and I still persisted in our last 
year’s habit, our two seats might be counted as 
an inseparable double in all the permutations 
and combinations (ahem, Advanced Algebra), 
thus permitting us always to remain side by 
side. When Jean read this, she sighed that 
she was growing fonder of Luella every day. 

The rest of Luella’s letter was about a new 
electric chafing-dish that would come in handy 
for late Sunday breakfast and supper, and 
about a set of reference histories that she had 
bought to keep in her room for the use of her 
friends, because sophomores generally waste 
hours waiting for special books in the library. 

While Jean with her head bent down was 
pushing the letter back into its envelope, I hur- 
ried to open mine, which was from Evanna, and 
not so fat as Luella’s. It was a poem entitled 
“ An Ode to Our End of the Corridor.” It 
was true poetry and showed how homesick 
Evanna was to get back to the scholarly atmos- 
phere. The only family she has is an uncle by 


24 When Jean and I W zre Sophomores 

marriage, so of course she is more dependent 
on her friends than the rest of us. 

It was not a humorous poem, though Jean 
said the verses about Luella sounded pleasantly 
ironic. For example: 

“ Stepping queenly through the halls, 

Lady of a thousand thralls, 

Luella.” 

However, in my opinion, this is not irony, as 
Luella does indeed walk like a queen or a pro- 
cession, and she is inclined to boss the other 
girls, of whom there are more than eleven hun- 
dred, though the poem employs the glittering 
generality of a thousand. 

The lines describing Evanna herself showed 
the beneficial effect of our freshman work in 
visualization. 

“ Eva Anna, indolent, 

Swaying, dreaming, well content.” 

Upon reading this, Jean said that she could 
just see the dear old genius loitering down the 
corridor, her colorless small face shining as if 
from some inner light. It is curious to reflect 
that Evanna, who possesses only part of one 
of the four conventional ingredients of happi- 


1 The Inseparables 25 

ness (namely, health, wealth, beauty, and 
brains) (for some brain is necessary to genius, 
which Evanna certainly has), seems to enjoy 
everything more keenly than Luella who is en- 
dowed with all four gifts. Jean and I have 
been trying for a whole year to discover the 
secret of happiness. When I argue that the 
secret of happiness is temperament, she pro- 
tests that I am merely explaining one word by 
substituting another. So we have not settled 
the question yet. 

The verses about Jean contained further 
proof of Evanna’s genius, both in their com- 
pact truth and also in the originality of the final 
phrase, which I am sure signifies something 
sensible. 

“ Jeanie of the eager eyes, 

Nimble-witted, laughter-wise. ,, 

While I was admiring the last adjective and 
comparing it to the Homeric use of epithet and 
also wondering what it meant, Jean remarked 
that she was growing fonder of Evanna eveiy 
day. She said that here was a person who 
understood why she laughed in chapel that 
awful night when I dropped both tennis balls 


26 When yean and I W zre Sophomores 

from my sweater pockets, and two professors 
were sitting at the other end of our seat which 
shook. She declared that Evanna was un- 
doubtedly the author of the rhyme beginning: 
“ It is better to laugh than to cry, my dear.” 
I think Jean would even joke about a flunk 
note. 

Another stanza of Evanna’s poem referred 
to me, but I did not care particularly for the 
adjectives. 

“ Nancy, simple-hearted, sweet, 

Grave of mouth and light of feet.” 

The fact is that I do not dance any better 
than Jean, though sometimes when I am hurry- 
ing somewhere I tuck a little skip in between 
steps and squeal under my breath to relieve my 
feelings. It is such fun to be a girl at college. 

By the time Jean and I had finished read- 
ing Luella’s letter and Evanna’s poem, we 
were feeling excited and queer. Anybody 
could see that our end of the corridor was going 
to be the loveliest place in the whole college 
that year. All our special friends had rooms 
in that neighborhood. Evanna’s single was 
next to our double with the green walls. Her 


2 7 


! The Inseparables 

poem, though it did have a few faults, sueh as 
using words merely for the sake of the rhyme, 
as in sweet and feet ( I do get so tired of being 
called that), made me feel crazy to be back 
among the girls. I do not consider the con- 
cluding verses very sentimental, but I saw 
Jean’s lip shake a little after she had read them. 

“ Where, upon the walls of college, the 
woodbine is glowing — my heart remembers 
how.” 

I cleared my throat. 

“ It isn’t woodbine,” I said. “ It is Boston 
ivy or ampelopsis. Evanna ought to take 
botany if she intends to become a poet of 
nature.” 

Jean got up from the floor very slowly, keep- 
ing her head turned so that I could not see her 
face. 

“ Once I saw an ampelopsis with pink leaves 
instead of scarlet in the autumn,” I went on 
chattily to hide the queer hollow feeling inside 
of me at thought of our end of the corridor. 
“ It looked beautiful against a white stucco 
wall. Don’t you fancy the college would be 
prettier if it were white stucco rather than red 
brick? ” 


28 When Jean and I W zre Sophomores 

“ No,” answered Jean. I could tell from 
my side view of the angle of her jaw that she 
was pressing her lips together, as she bent to 
lift a tray from her trunk. 

“Oh!” This ejaculation signified that I 
had just that instant remembered something. 
So I scrambled upright hurriedly. “ Jean, we 
must write at once to give up our double. 
There is always a long list of girls waiting for 
rooms on the campus. They will be so glad 
to get ours. Two of them will, anyhow. 
Perhaps we ought to telegraph. Suppose it 
were we who were waiting. We must tele- 
graph. They will be so glad. Can we explain 
it all in ten words? ” 

“ No,” answered Jean, and set the tray on 
the bed, and swung around so that I saw her 
face. She looked at me with her chin down 
and her eyebrows drawn in a straight line. 
“We cannot explain it in ten words or in ten 
thousand words, because we are not going to 
do it. I have changed my mind about going 
back to college. You are not going to give up 
that room. You are not going to live in a 
cottage off the campus. It would not be fair. 
It is your duty to be near Luella’s books and 


29 


The Inseparables 

the girls and everything. You cannot live 
with me in a cottage off the campus, because I 
am going to stay home with my mother this 
year.” 

The way she said it gave me a stunned feel- 
ing as if I had run bang against a stone wall, 
and there was absolutely no use in trying to 
argue. Before I knew what I was doing, I 
had clapped both hands to my face and burst 
out crying. I cried loud, too. I could not 
help it. It must have sounded like a small boy 
howling boo-hoo. I was so ashamed! But I 
could not stop even when Mrs. Dickinson came 
hurrying up-stairs and put her arms around 
me. 

Jean explained that I was crying because 
she had decided not to go back to college this 
year. 

Her mother’s arms turned limp and slid off 
my waist. Between my fingers I caught a 
glimpse of her face. She was certainly 
astonished. . 

“Not go back to college!” she exclaimed. 
“ But why? ” 

When Jean had explained that point also, 
Mrs. Dickinson looked so funny that I stopped 


30 When Jean and I Were Sophomores 

crying to watch her. At first I thought she 
was going to cry herself. But instead of that, 
she threw back her head and laughed, and then 
she blushed a little, and then she kissed Jean 
several times, and then she showed us the letter 
that had come in the morning mail. At least, 
she showed us the outside of it. She told us 
what was in it. That is, she told us part of it. 
And what do you suppose it was? It was a 
proposal of marriage. 

So Jean decided to go back to college after 
all, because her mother truly did not care to 
keep house for us in a cottage off the campus. 
She promised Jean not to be lonely at home, 
especially as she thought perhaps she would 
be very busy getting ready to be married to 
the man. I really believe that she would rather 
do that than go to college, even if she could live 
in a dormitory on the campus. 


II 


emily's invitations 

My second theme is going to be more inter- 
esting than the first one because it is almost 
like a story, though really true. The events 
happened this very evening in the time that 
has elapsed since the dressing-gong rang at 
half after five. Jean is asleep with her cheeks 
still burning as if she had a fever. The cor- 
ners of her mouth droop a little, but she will 
be cheerful again in the morning, I am sure. 
At least, the proverbs about doing good to 
others all imply so. I am sitting up late, thus 
using the first of the three cuts allowed to each 
student every month. (N. B. Such explana- 
tory remarks as the foregoing are inserted for 
the information of posterity who will possibly 
have different customs when they go to col- 
lege.) I will also add that my reason for 
writing to-night instead of to-morrow is in 
order to record the exact words of the con- 
versations while they are distinct in my mind. 

31 


32 W hen Jean and I W zre Sophomores 

I have been told by several teachers in the high 
school that my verbal memory is far above the 
average. I am also good at math. 

Jean and I had come in from a spin on our 
bicycles through the frosty October dusk. As 
soon as we opened the dormitory door, we 
smelled roast beef cooking for dinner. We 
were indeed hungry, as may be inferred from 
the context. J ean made a movement that might 
be described as capering, and exclaimed, “ Oh, 
perhaps we shall have Yorkshire pudding!” 
Then she went skipping on in front of me be- 
cause she was in a hurry to get her hair brushed 
in time. I saw her stop in front of the bulletin- 
board and stand there, reading a new notice, 
with her hands in her sweater pockets and her 
cap pushed back on her wind-blown head. 

When I caught up to her and had read the 
notice, which was the regular annual request 
that those students who wished to sit at the 
same table in the dining-room should hand in 
a list of their names, I said, 44 Have you invited 
Emily Allan yet? ” 

44 No,” answered Jean, lifting her chin in 
that stubborn way she has sometimes. 44 And 
I don’t intend to invite her, either.” 


33 


Emily's Invitations 

“ But nobody will unless you do,” I pro- 
tested, though I hate to give advice. “No- 
body wants her. That is why you ought to 
ask her to sit at our table this year. It is up 
to you to see that she is not left out of every- 
thing. You owe it.” 

Jean twitched her shoulder. (She is part 
French, a nation noted for shrugging and so 
forth. We both take that language for a 
snap.) 

“ I guess I don’t owe her the best part of my 
whole sophomore year, do I? What right 
have I to sacrifice all the other girls at our 
table? Just see what trouble she caused last 
year before she broke down and went home! 
She is a dangerous person to have around.” 

“ But, Jean, maybe she does not real- 
lze 

“ It isn’t because I don’t like her. I do like 
her. She is bright and pretty and vivacious 
and always trying to do things for others. I 
know if it had not been for her I would never 
have come to this college. I am grateful. 
You know I am. But that does not mean that 
I want her to sit at our table.” 

“ But, Jean, nobody else wants her. And 


34 When Jean and I Were Sophomores 

she is so eager to be liked. When she finds out 
that all the girls she knew last year are making 
up their table groups without inviting her to 
join a single one, she will be frantic. When 
she first entered college, don’t you remember, 
she was invited to sit at seven different tables. 
Everybody likes her — at first.” 

“Aha!” Jean sniffed. “Exactly. They 
like her at first. But when they find out how 
she makes trouble wherever she goes by repeat- 
ing every word she hears, and always telling 
everybody what somebody else has said, they 
change their minds. We can’t trust her. 
Don’t you remember that poem : 

' Nor shall you fear your heart to say. 

Lest he who listens shall betray/ 

I don’t want her. I don’t! ” 

“ But, Jean ” 

“ If she sits at our table, we shall not dare to 
say a thing that we are unwilling should be 
repeated — and twisted, too. She always gets 
things twisted. What’s the fun of talking 
among friends if we must weigh every word 
and trim it so that it may be repeated to any- 
body anywhere? It would spoil our whole 


Emily's Invitations 35 

year. Oh, Nancy, I won’t ask her to sit at 
our table. I won’t! ” 

“ But, Jean ” 

“ And anyhow there isn’t room for another 
girl. We have ten names already. This 
notice says that all who wish to sit together in 
the dining-room must drop their lists in the box 
before to-morrow. I am going up-stairs this 
moment to write ours out. And Emily Allan 
won’t be in it. I can tell you that much. 
She’s a regular Miss Busybody. She would 
spoil everything.” 

“ Hush! ” I gripped Jean’s arm quick to 
stop her. Emily was coming. 

Jean’s sweater pockets sagged suddenly be- 
neath the downward thrust of her fists. Mov- 
ing a step closer to the bulletin-board, she 
turned in a sort of casual way so that her head 
came right in front of that notice. 

“ Don’t you dare let her see it,” she 
whispered almost in a hiss. “ Don’t you dare 
to let her see it till I can get away, or she will 
take it for granted that she is going to sit with 
us. Now you be careful! ” 

“ Oh, girls! ” Emily flitted up to us. She 
certainly looked pretty, even to me who had 


36 JVhen Jean and I W zre Sophomores 

seen her drawing in her dimple just as she 
danced into view around an angle of the stair- 
case. “ Isn’t this the loveliest place! Aren’t 
you glad you’re here? You ought to be thank- 
ful every day you live that you did not break 
down like me in the middle of your freshman 
year and lose months and months of all the fun 
and friendliness. I’ve been so crazy to get 
back. I can hardly wait now till all our dear 
old crowd settles down again in our regular 
places at the same table. We used to have the 
best times together. I can hardly wait.” 

“ Um-m,” mumbled Jean, and dug her 
hands deeper into her pockets, while one swift 
glance sought assurance from me that the 
notice was well hidden. “ It’s different this 
year.” 

“ Different ! ” Emily’s curly lashes flew 
upward, then fluttered. “ Oh, Jeanie, have 
you noticed it, too? Something is different. 
The girls seem so much busier, or something. 
They are always in a hurry every time I see 
any of them. Must sophomores work every 
minute? They don’t even have time to talk 
to each other. Two or three here, two or three 
there, but never once the ten all together as we 


37 


Emily's limitations 

used to be. I’m hoping it will be the same 
again when we are back at the same table. It’s 
horrid to feel so scattered and separate. I 
want to come down to dinner in a pretty dress 
every evening and see the girls look up at me 
in that soft bright way of theirs as they used 
to do. And then we laugh and talk and talk 
and argue and play till chapel time. Oh, I 
can hardly wait.” 

Jean stared once at the ceiling, then down 
at the floor, then at the big clock high on the 
wall before her. 

“ I’ve got to go and dress for dinner,” she 
said. “ Run along with Nancy, Emily.” A 
stiff gesture of her head still plastered against 
the board directed me to move on before Emily 
had a chance to read the notice behind her. 

“ Come, Emily.” Obediently I drew Emily’s 
arm within mine, being no more willing than 
Jean was to be present at the reading. “ Walk 
as far as the elevator with us, will you? ” 

“ Oh, yes! ” A new light leapt up in the 
childlike face. “ Do you really want me? ” 
The eager diffidence of her manner made me 
feel sorrier than ever, because it was such a 
change from last year. “ Why, do you know. 


38 When yean and I W ire Sophomores 

I really have not even walked down the cor- 
ridor with any of the old girls since I came 
back. And we have been here a week. They 
are always in a hurry. Does everything seem 
different this year to you, too? ” She drew a 
quick little sigh. “ Oh, well, I suppose it is 
just because of getting settled and fixing our 
schedules and rushing for seats at meals instead 
of having our own places. Pretty soon it will 
begin to be like last year, don’t you think so? ” 

“ I — don’t know.” My voice must have 
sounded queer. “ Things can’t help changing. 
Everybody changes.” 

“ Do you think I have changed? ” Emily 
looked up with an expectant smile, wistful for 
admiration. “ Oh, I do hope the girls will 
like me as well as they did last year. Don’t 
you remember how I was invited to sit at seven 
different tables? They were so sweet to me, 
and I tried just as hard as I could to make 
them like me. It is so lovely to be liked. I’ve 
been crazy to get back.” 

“ Here’s the elevator, Nancy.” Jean’s tone 
was gruff. “ Hustle in.” 

Emily waved her hand, and turned away in 
the direction of the bulletin-board. I craned 


39 


Emily s Invitations 

my neck to watch her as the cage slowly lifted 
from floor to floor. As the two of us emerged 
and started down the corridor toward our 
rooms, Jean suddenly stopped and brought 
down her right foot with a defiant thud. 

“ It wouldn’t be fair to the other girls at our 
table,” she said. “ They don’t want her.” 

I said nothing. Jean caught another 
breath. 

“ Just see what trouble she made at our table 
last year ! It is all her fault that our last year’s 
crowd is scattered this year. She went around 
repeating and twisting little thoughtless re- 
marks till she had spoiled everything. She has 
made enough mischief, I tell you. I won’t 
ask her to sit at our table. I won’t! ” 

“ She doesn’t mean to make trouble,” said I. 
“ She could learn. If some one would give her 

a hint ” 

Jean sniffed. 

“ And you owe her ” 

Jean clapped both hands over her ears and 
ran. 

Fifteen minutes later, in the throng of girls 
pouring into the dining-room, I heard a voice 
behind me. 


40 W hen "Jean and I JV zre Sophomores 

“ I’m sorry, Emily. I’m awfully sorry I 
can’t join you in making up a table. I’ve 
promised somebody else. Haven’t you really 
made any arrangements yet? That is too bad. 
Most of the old girls chose their table groups 
last June. You carry some freshman work, 
don’t you? Why not sit with some of them? 
They seem to be an unusually fine set of girls 
this year.” 

“ But my friends are all sophomores.” 
Emily seemed to be breathing quickly. “ It is 
so funny they have not said anything to me 
about the tables. I suppose they took it for 
granted. Of course they took it for granted 
and put my name down on their lists. I did 
not see the notice till a few minutes ago ” 

“ Why not hand in your name with two or 
three more, and the warden will assign you 
with others who have been left out ” 

“Left out!” gasped Emily. “Oh, no! 
Oh, no, no, no ! I have not been left out. It 
is a mistake. I’ll find Berta. I’ll find Bee 
and Dee. I’ll catch Luella. They all liked 
me last year. And Jean surely has remem- 
bered. Oh, of course, it is a mistake.” 

Turning slightly I caught a glimpse of 


Emily's Invitations 41 

Emily’s panic-stricken face, and swiftly 
snatched away my eyes. Something sort of 
tweaked at my heart. It was the queerest 
feeling. Mechanically I pressed on toward 
the table, where Jean was holding a place for 
me. 

“ What’s the matter? ” asked Jean. “ You 
look queer.” 

Just then, at the tap of a bell, the shuffle of 
five hundred chairs and the rustle of five hun- 
dred skirts drowned out any possible answer. 
But after the minute of silent grace, Jean 
leaned nearer to repeat insistently: “ What’s 
the matter? I never saw you look so queer.” 

“ Emily knows that she has been left out,” 
I answered. “ A moment ago I saw her face.” 

Jean’s eyelids flickered. Her soft round 
chin seemed to harden inside all at once. She 
threw back her head. 

“ It’s her own fault,” she said. 

I sat staring into my soup. It had tiny 
alphabet letters floating around in it. But I 
was not thinking about them. 

“ I saw her face,” I repeated. “ You 
didn’t.” 

Jean carefully sandwiched half a butter-ball 


42 When yean and I Were Sophomores 

between two oyster crackers and carried it 
half-way to her mouth, where it remained 
stationary in forgotten fingers. 

“ I guess other girls have faces,” she mut- 
tered. “ It wouldn’t be fair to them.” 

“ She said to this girl behind me, ‘ Oh, no! 
Oh, no, no, no! I have not been left out. 
Jean surely has remembered.’ ” 

After a moment, Jean moistened her lips. 

“ I tell you there isn’t any seat for her at our 
table. We have ten names already.” 

“ Sometimes a group is allowed to put an 
extra chair at the foot,” I told her. “ I am 
sure we could get permission. And then if 
somebody would explain to Emily and give her 
a kind of a hint about repeating things, she 
would improve a lot. She is crazy to be liked.” 

Jean shut her teeth with a snap. 

“ Oh, you make me so mad,” she exclaimed 
under her breath. “ You do make me so mad. 
I tell you I don’t want her at our table.” 

She said it so hard that I knew instantly she 
was feeling shaky about everything. So I sat 
back in my chair to rest for a moment. But 
the only thing I said was, “ If you don’t want 
to get fat, why do you eat so much butter? ” 


Emily's Invitations 43 

(Her best evening frock is pretty tight even 
now at the beginning of the year.) 

However, she would not answer or speak to 
me during the rest of the meal. Jean is not 
often like that. Usually she enjoys arguing 
and even disputing on all sorts of questions. 
But this time she acted just as if I were Emily's 
best friend instead of hers. I tried not to mind 
very much, because I knew she was worrying 
about Emily. 

When the maids appeared with the round 
dishes of rice pudding for dessert, Jean got up 
to leave the table. About half the girls were 
rising to go, shoving back their chairs all over 
the big room. I waited to see if the pudding 
had any raisins in it. It had. Just as I began 
to eat my first spoonful, Jean slid back into 
her place. 

When I asked why she came back, she said, 
“ Um~m — hurry up with your pudding.” 

That was the best pudding! Or anyhow it 
tasted like the best, though perhaps my feel- 
ings had some effect on its flavor. I was so 
glad that Jean liked me just the same, even if 
I do give her advice. I happened to be dis- 
cussing math — or rather, to be accurate, the 


44 When Jean and I W zre Sophomores 

mathematical teacher — with the girl on the 
other side of me. But every little while I 
would glance around to smile at Jean. The 
first time I glanced she was staring at the 
sugar-bowl as if it were not there. The next 
time I looked she was huddled down low in her 
chair, her eyelashes twinkling. And the third 
fime I turned, in spite of the fact that it cer- 
tainly was only half a minute later, she had 
disappeared. She was gone, and I could not 
see her anywhere in the whole dining-room, 
though our table was at the end farthest from 
the door. 

The maid was giggling as she stood at the 
service table by the wall. However, I did not 
suspect the truth till Emily pounced upon me 
the instant I reached the corridor. Her cheeks 
were blazing. 

“Is Jean coming? I’ve been waiting here 
the longest time. I thought I saw her start to 
come out once, but she went back.” 

I blinked a little. 

“ She’s gone,” I said. “ Her chair is empty. 
Are you sure she has not passed by while you 
were thinking of something else? ” 

“ She could not possibly have slipped by 


4 5 


Emily's Invitations 

without my seeing her. I was bound not to 
miss her. It is awfully important. Do you 
think she might have gone to the pantry to 
get some milk for fudge or something? I’ll 
wait.” 

I looked back down toward our table, and 
thought I saw a head poked up just far enough 
to show the eyes above Jean’s chair for a 
moment, then slide down out of sight again. 
She was hiding under the table. She had seen 
Emily at the door when she started out the 
first time. She had gone back and was hiding 
under the table. That showed how much she 
cared. 

I said, “ She is not in the pantry. Why 
don’t you wait till to-morrow? She is likely 
to be engaged to-night.” 

“ I can’t wait,” exclaimed Emily in a flus- 
tered voice. “ I must see her to-night. It is 
awfully important. To-morrow will be too 
late.” 

After a while I said, “ Will it? ” There was 
nothing else in my mind to say. That is, noth- 
ing truthful. 

Emily hesitated, twisting her fingers. She 
has the loveliest rings. 


46 When "Jean and I Were Sophomores 

“ You see — I — I wanted to ask her — I 
thought maybe she has forgotten to tell me. 
I — I was wondering if — about the table, you 
know.” 

I stiffened my shoulders so as to hide how I 
felt inside, and said, “ I don’t believe she has 
forgotten.” 

Emily looked scared. 

“ Oh — you don’t mean — oh, I’m awfully 
sorry ” 

I thought of Jean hiding under that table. 
So I swallowed once and spoke very politely: 
“ I hope you will sit somewhere near us. 
Jean ” — I swallowed again, “ Jean hopes so, 
too.” 

Emily had turned perfectly white. 

“ Pardon me. I — I’m sorry. I thought 
Jean — remembered. I did not see the notice 
till a few minutes ago. I really haven’t had 
time to make arrangements. I supposed — I — 
I — hoped — well, you know, last year we sat at 
the same table. Have you and Jean” — her 
voice caught, “ made out your list already? 
Are you sure you have ten names? ” 

I had to tell her, though I hated like poison 
to say yes. I pretended to be fastening my 


Emily's Invitations 47 

belt till I heard her give a queer little laugh 
and say, “ I am thinking of last year.” 

Her forehead was screwed in short crisscross 
wrinkles though her eyes were very bright and 
her teeth twinkled as she tried to keep on smil- 
ing. I said I had to hurry to chapel. It hurt 
to look at her. 

There I caught only a glimpse of Jean as she 
slipped in late and tiptoed out before the end 
of the last hymn, as if she did not want to be 
noticed. 

An hour later, after I was settled for the 
evening, with my books propped open beneath 
the drop-light, the door of our room swung 
noiselessly inward, and Jean stood on the 
threshold. 

“ Emily is going home,” she said. 

“ What? ” I shouted. (The verb, exclaimed , 
though more ladylike, is not loud enough.) 
My glasses, which I wear only for reading, 
fell off. 

“ Emily is going home,” repeated Jean. 
“ She is going home just because nobody in- 
vited her to sit at anybody’s table. She is 
going home.” 

“ Going home? ” I echoed, feeling even 


48 When Jean and I Were Sophomores 

more stupid than I sounded. “ G-going 
home? ” 

“ She thinks the girls do not like her. She 
cares. She cares as much as that just because 
nobody invited her to sit at anybody’s table. 
She is going home. I saw her packing her 
trunk. I happened to be passing her room a 
few minutes ago. I just happened to be pass- 
ing. The corridor down there is dark and 
lonely with boxes and things littered along the 
wall. She was bending over her trunk. I 

heard her — I heard her ” Jean gulped. 

“ She was crying.” 

“ Crying? ” It was my own intelligent 
voice. “ C-crying? ” Then I thought I had 
better pick up my glasses and rub the lenses. 
Jean, stumbling slightly on one corner of the 
rug, walked across to a window, and pressed 
her forehead against the pane. I breathed on 
my glasses and held them up to the light. 
They did not look very clear, or else some- 
thing made the air misty. 

Suddenly Jean whirled around, both arms 
flung in a wide-spread circle. 

“ She is going to give it all up — all of this — 
the college — everything!” 


49 


Emily's Invitations 

“ What an idiot! ” I said. 

Jean drew a deep sigh, and shook herself. 

“ I might have missed it all,” she said, “ all — 
all — everything college means to me — I might 

have missed it all if — if ” 

“ if it had not been for Emily. She 

urged you to try for the entrance scholarship. 
When I think that you might have gone to 
another college, if any, and never have met 


Jean was half-way to the door. 

“ I am going to invite Emily to sit at our 
table,” she said. 

And she did. 

Now, as I have mentioned in the first para- 
graph of this theme, she is asleep while I am 
still sitting up. I think it is near morning. 

After all, Emily Allan is a very sweet girl 
and so anxious to please that maybe she won’t 
mind if I give her a hint about talking. 


Ill 


jean's antipathy 

The subject of this theme was suggested to 
me by my roommate, Jean Dickinson, in the 
following manner. It was again the hour be- 
fore dinner, as also in the introductory para- 
graph of Theme II. Once more, according to 
custom, Jean and I were strolling up and down 
the corridor while waiting for the gong to be- 
gin to whir the preliminary summons to our 
evening repast. The third time we passed the 
open door of the reading-room I almost ex- 
claimed, “Ouch!” out loud, because Jean 
squeezed me all of a sudden. Undoubtedly she 
fails to realize how much rowing strengthens 
a girl’s muscles. 

“ Look! ” she hissed — or rather, the ejacula- 
tion could have been described as a hiss if the 
word had contained any sound of a sibilant. 
“ There she is!” 

I looked in and espied only the usual assort- 
ment of girls sitting around on the benches and 
50 


Jean s Antipathy 51 

reading papers and magazines, while they like- 
wise waited for dinner. 

I said, “Huh? Well?” (If it were not 
for my resolve to adhere to the realistic method 
in literature, I should omit the huh as inelegant 
English. However, the second of my three 
stylistic ideals, as inculcated by our first fresh- 
man instructor, namely: simplicity, sincerity, 
straightforwardness, prohibit any glossing of 
true facts. Hence, I include the aspirated 
vowel as uttered.) 

“ There,” whispered Jean, her breath tick- 
ling my ear, “ don’t you see that queer big- 
eyed little thing gazing over her paper at 
Margaret V. Adams in the middle of the room? 
Don’t stare! ” 

“ Isn’t Margaret V. Adams used to being 
stared at? ” I inquired with a facetious air, for 
my remark, it is needless to explain to any 
member of college, was ironical. 

“ Yes,” replied Jean, being quick at 
repartee, “ Margaret V. Adams is indeed used 
to being stared at, especially by young soph- 
omores with literary aspirations, such as 
Nancy B. Blake. Aha, hit it that time, 
didn’t I? ” 


52 W hen Jean and I W zre Sophomores 

“ No such thing!” I contradicted her as 
vigorously as possible without raising my 
voice. “ I never stared at her in my life — at 
least, not long enough really to call it a stare.” 

“ Oh, run along, infant! You’re the easiest 
person to tease. I only wanted to show you 
the stupidest Oh! ” Jean broke off ab- 

ruptly and clapped her hands. “ Why didn’t I 
think of it sooner? You said you were wishing 
for a subject for your next theme. Well, there 
it is bang before your very face. A contrast. 
That is the very thing. I heard a teacher say 
once that the lazy students always choose to 
do the contrasts when they have a choice of 
topics in an English examination.” 

She paused a moment to give me a chance 
to express indignation but I was too much in- 
terested to waste time like that. 

“ What is the contrast? ” I asked. 

“ There in the middle of the reading-room: 
Margaret V. Adams, renowned, preeminent, 
famous, senior editor pro tern, of the magazine, 
sitting right opposite the stupidest girl in col- 
lege, named Amy Norton.” 

“ The stupidest? ” I leaned forward to look 
harder, because I have found as a general thing 


Jean's Antipathy 53 

that stupid girls are often very pretty, though 
not always. 

“ Far and away the stupidest. The junior 
who tutors her told me that the poor little thing 
studies harder than any girl in the class and 
learns the least. Her brain is just naturally 
slow. Isn’t that dreadful — to struggle along 
behind everybody! And that isn’t the worst 
of it. The mother of that stupid child is 
awfully ambitious for her to do well at college. 
Amd she can’t. She truly can’t. Her brain 
is not the right kind to work with books. I 
am sorry for her.” 

“ So am I. Do you suppose she admires 
Margaret V. Adams?” 

“Admires! She adores — oh — ah, well, no, 
not adores exactly. Couldn’t you see her 
eyes? She was gazing up as if she wanted 
something with all her heart and was afraid 
she could never have it. Of course, Margaret 
V. Adams noticed it. Very, very bad for her 
character! ” Jean shook her head mournfully. 

“ Whose character? ” 

“ The character of Margaret V. Adams, 
dear infant. Successful in everything, wor- 
shiped by freshmen, admired by the faculty. 


54 When "Jean and I Were Sophomores 

approved by her classmates! No character 
could stand it. Not a single human solitary 
character in all the whole wide ordinary 
world! ” 

“ Stand what? ” 

“ Margaret V. never made a mistake. That 
is terrible. It will blast her bright career. 
Fancy! She never made a mistake in all her 
long noble life. No wonder I am worrying 
about her character! ” 

Suddenly I suspected the reason why J ean 
seemed especially exasperated, though I admit 
that Margaret’s customary manner is not 
soothing to either of us. 

“ Was she so horrid as that about your 
poem? ” I asked. 

“ Oh, she was maddening. You should 
have heard her reason with me concerning the 
meter and the thought and the rhymes and the 
style and the diction and everything. It was 
all wrong — all entirely and utterly inferior. 
But she was willing to publish it in the next 
issue of the magazine. Oh, yes, she was will- 
ing to accept it, provided that I would do it 
all over in accordance with her suggestions. 
Oh, my soul! I could hardly get myself out- 


55 


c Jea?i > s Antipathy 

side the door without flying into half-inch 
pieces. She is the only living creature who 
makes me want to throw things — anything — 
everything — all sorts of dreadful things.” 

“ Oh, but, Jean,” I pleaded, being aware of 
her impulsive temperament, “ surely you 
agreed to fix the poem over so that she will 
print it. She is the editor-in-chief, you know. 
And you are so anxious to have some of your 
poetry published in order to send it to your 
aunt. You want to prove that you are worth 
educating. Oh, I hope you did not offend 
Miss Adams.” 

Then I was sorry that I had spoken like that, 
for Jean flushed from her V-neck to her hair. 
Her voice sounded choked. 

“ Of course I knuckled under,” she said. “ I 
am furious at myself every time I think of it. 
But I do so care. Nancy, I care ” 

I squeezed her arm a little to show that I 
understood, but I did not kiss her because 
kisses generally embarrass her. She is like a 
boy in hating to express her deepest feelings. 
Indeed, five minutes later, when we were all 
seated at dinner, nobody would imagine that 
she cared much about anything. I opened my 


56 When yean and I W zre Sophomores 

eyes after the silent grace just in time to catch 
her moving the big pitcher of milk in front of 
my plate. I protested immediately, and set 
it back in front of her again. 

“No, you don’t. I have hoisted up that 
heavy thing and poured out huge glasses of 
milk about a hundred and fifty times already 
this week, and now it is your turn, seeing that 
you drink the most anyhow. Lazy! ” 

Heaving a sigh, Jean feebly tipped the 
pitcher to fill one glass and then drank it her- 
self slowly sip by sip while all the rest waited, 
a few of us, so to speak, clamoring. 

“ Everybody tramples on me,” she grieved 
loudly on purpose. “ First it is Margaret V. 
Adams, and then it is Nancy B. Blake. Next 
it will be the Emperor of Austria or Prexie or 
the editor of the Atlantic or somebody. I’m 
getting so squashed and pleasant.” 

“ What was that? ” Evanna at the other 
end of the table leaned forward to hear better. 
She is so long and slim that she can lean quite 
a distance. “ What’s that about Margaret V. 
and the editor of the Atlantic ? Is she going to 
publish something of hers? Well, what do 
you-all know about that ! She is a sure-’nough 


Jean s Antipathy 57 

genius. Curious she did not tell me this after- 
noon.” 

“ Extremely curious,” murmured Jean, “ if 
true.” Pensively oblivious of the array of 
glasses stretched toward her, she filled her own 
a second time. “ The diction of Margaret V. 
Adams is pure Anglo-Saxon, ab-so-lute-ly 
perfect. She told me so herself.” 

“ What? He said it was perfect? That is 
right down lovely. J ean ! J eanie Dickinson ! 
Now I reckon that you’ll stop being so stub- 
born when Margaret criticizes your verses. 
She does it for your good. This afternoon she 
told me a mighty interesting secret about the 
next number of the magazine. You’ll all be 
right tickled. Oh, Jeanie!” She raised her 
voice again. “ I have a message from the 
editors about that last poem of yours.” 

Jean swallowed some milk the wrong way, 
but not very much. I am sure that she had no 
suspicion then of what the message really 
proved to be. In fact both of us forgot all 
about it when Evanna overtook us in the cor- 
ridor after dinner, and said she wanted to read 
something to us. She is always and forever 
ambuscading people in corners where they 


58 When yean and I W zre Sophomores 

cannot escape, in order to make them listen to 
stuff she has written. It is awful to be asked 
for an opinion, especially when I am afraid it 
will hurt her feelings. 

“ Girls,” she announced after she had backed 
us both against the banisters in the curve of 
the north stairway, “ I have the most exquisite 
poem to read to you. Simply flawless, Mar- 
garet says. I never saw her so thrilled before 
over any undergraduate contribution. She 
discovered it dropped into the box down in the 
editorial office late this afternoon. She could 
hardly believe that the name signed at the 
end actually belongs to an unknown little 
freshman ! ” 

“ Maybe she isn’t little,” said Jean. “ If 
she is unknown, how can you know ” 

“ Oh, now, Jeanie, don’t you-all be jealous. 
This one is a sure-’nough genius. Margaret 
says she is too excited to sleep to-night. She 
is that generous about recognizing literary 
talent. Now, you Jeanie, and you Nancy, 
you listen with both your ears. I want to see 
your eyes shine just as Margaret’s did over 
this wonderful piece of work.” 

Promptly J ean shut her eyes and bandaged 


yean's Antipathy 59 

them with her ribbon belt. “ Parati-as-a,” she 

babbled, “paratorum-arum-orum ” 

I slipped my hand over her mouth. 

“ Oh, well! ” She pinched my fingers in a 
way that was expressive but did not hurt. “ I 
will cease for the present. Don’t you love that 
orum-arum-orum? It is so filling. Hurry 
along, O Muse! The chapel bell will be 
a-ringing in ’leven miserable minutes by my 
missing watch, fee-fi-fo-fum! ’’ 

I told Evanna not to mind Jean’s foolish- 
ness, because maybe the milk had gone to her 
head. Jean giggled at this, but Evanna was 
too much in earnest to notice it was funny. 

Her soft drawling voice certainly read that 
poem well. The very first line seemed to me 
beautiful, though I did wonder why Jean lifted 
her head so quickly at sound of the opening 
phrase. At the second line she pushed up the 
bandage on her forehead. At the third, her 
nostrils dilated. At the fourth, her lip curled. 
At the fifth, she glanced toward me and raised 
her eyebrows. But I was trying to listen, and 
anyhow I did not understand what was the 
matter with Jean. I had never known her to 
be jealous of anybody. 


60 W hen "Jean and I Were Sophomores 

When Evanna had finished reading, she 
looked up expectantly. 

“ What do you think of that? Isn’t it a 
marvelous thing? The author of that is a 
genius. To think it was written by an obscure 
little freshman whose name even Margaret had 
never heard before to-day! ” 

“ I like it,” said I. (I almost always like 
everything. Jean is different.) 

Jean was leaning in an easy curve against 
the banisters, her right hand supporting her 
left elbow so that her left hand could caress 
her chin in the posture usually adopted by wise 
men in moments of profound thought. 

“ You can’t fool me,” she said. 

Evanna stared, the light fading from her 
odd face. 

“ I reckon you-all are crazy,” she gasped. 

“ I was caught once by that trick in the high 
school,” explained Jean. “ And once is 
enough for this child.” 

“ But this is not a trick,” exclaimed Evanna 
indignantly. “ This is an original poem con- 
tributed by a freshman to the magazine. It is 
going to be printed in the next number. Mar- 
garet plans to give it the place of honor.” 


Jean's Antipathy 61 

“ Yes? ” Jean’s voice ascended at the end 
with a maddening inflection of incredulity. 
“ Is it, indeed? It will be an excellent proof 
of the — ah — acumen and — ah — literary knowl- 
edge of the editor-in-chief.” 

After a puzzled blink, Evanna shrugged her 
shoulders. 

“ You’re jealous, honey. That is the matter 
with you. It isn’t pretty of you, Jeanie. 
Just because you’ve taken this trifling an- 
tipathy to Margaret Adams, that is no excuse 
for running down true poetry. Stop it, honey. 
You must not grudge Margaret the honor of 
discovering a new genius.” 

Jean sniffed. “ I am willing to admit 
that the poem was written by a genius,” she 
said. 

“ Certain sure it was. Margaret intends to 
draw particular attention to it in the leading 
editorial of the month. As an example of 
creative original and independent work among 
the undergraduates in this college ” 

“ Oh, cracky! ” Jean’s eyes and mouth and 
everything were perfectly round. 

“ Now, now, honey! ” Evanna thought she 
spoke soothingly. “ I understand how you 


62 When "Jean and I W zre Sophomores 

feel. But you mustn’t be jealous, Jeanie. 
You have a gift of your own. Margaret her- 
self says that if you had a broader, more thor- 
ough foundation for literary work, you really 
might do something when you grow up. She 
thinks time will show whether your talent is 
genuine or merely an imitative knack.” 

Jean choked awfully hard right here. I 
think she swallowed a word. Evanna just 
kept right on. 

“ Margaret says a little judicious discipline 
would do you a lot of good. She thinks you 
have been flattered too much and spoiled 
yonder at home. You must have been mighty 
contrary the last time she talked to you, 
honey.” 

“ I — I was! ” exploded Jean, and fled. 

A minute later, I sped in pursuit and found 
her posing before the big mirror in Room J. 
She was making faces at herself in the glass. 

“ Does my facial expression convey any 
specific impression to your mind?” she in- 
quired as she continued to twist her mouth 
around. 

“ It looks as if you were going crazy,” I told 
her. “ I don’t like you when you are so ugly.” 


yean" s Antipathy 63 

Jean paused in the middle of a horrible 
frown to consider her obedient image. 

“ Alas/’ she muttered gloomily, “ I surely 
do not look as if I might be a pleasant person 
to marry.” 

“ Marry! ” I exclaimed, or rather, to be ac- 
curate in description, I squealed. 

“ Don’t worry.” Jean patted my shoulder. 
“ Nobody has asked me — not yet. I was only 
thinking that if I appear unattractive now, 
perhaps you will not enjoy it when I begin 
verily to gloat over mine enemy.” 

“ Enemy? ” I muttered, aghast. 

“ Yea, yea. Didn’t you catch the idea? I 
was practising for next month. Just wait till 
the next number of the magazine bursts into 
print, O mine enemy ! Cracky ! ” 

“ Jean, stop being silly, and tell me what 
was the matter with that poem. I liked it.” 

“ Surely you liked it. So did I, sweetheart. 
It is the work of a genius. Only, if you insist 
upon knowing the truth, the genius who wrote 
that poem was never a freshman in this college. 
He happened to die several years before this 
institution was founded. Cracky ! I thought 
Evanna was trying to test our acquaintance 


64 IVhen Jean and I W zre Sophomores 

with English poets. Once in the high school 
a girl read me a sonnet and asked me to critic 
cize it. Thinking she had written it, I pointed 
out a few faults, tore the imagery to pieces, 
and so forth. Whereupon she thanked me, 
and added kindly that it chanced to be a sonnet 
by a man named Wordsworth. Oh, cracky! ” 
Jean repeated that cracky in a sort of awed 
voice as if she was gazing mentally at some 
terrific spectacle. 

So I inquired: “ Why? ” 

“ Because Margaret V. Adams is going to 
print that poem as the original work of a 
freshman. She will acclaim it in a noble 
editorial. She will point with pride to the 
future of this newly discovered young genius 
in our midst. And then — and then — oh, 
cracky! ” 

“ Then what? ” 

“ Nothing! ” Jean clasped her hands over 
her chest and rolled her eyes. “ Oh, nothing 
at all, except that everybody will jump on 
Margaret V. Adams for being so ignorant as 
to believe for one instant that a freshman wrote 
that poem. Catch the idea, honey-child? 
Ignorant! I-g-n-o-r-a-n-t! The great, the 


Jean s Antipathy 65 

only, the infallible Margaret V. Adams, editor- 
in-chief.” 

“ Aren’t you going to tell her? ” 

“ Tell her!” Jean flung up both arms. 
“ My child, I don’t dare. I — tell her some- 
thing she doesn’t know! Nay, nay! And 
anyhow the blunder will be so beneficial for 
her character. She is a person who has never, 
never made a mistake. Oh, no, not yet. Just 
you wait till that magazine appears, Nancy 
Blake. You just wait.” 

“ Cracky! ” I said, for by this time I could 
see that terrific spectacle in my own mind. 

Jean hopped up and down, hugging herself 
meanwhile. 

44 Margaret V. Adams has made a mistake, 
a mistake, a mistake. Oh, won’t it be good for 
her character ! ” She stopped to chuckle be- 
fore adding to her song: 44 Also for mine, also 
for mine, because her manner spoils my dis- 
position. Oh, Nancy, count up quick! How 
many minutes till the magazine comes out? ” 

Just then Evanna poked her head in at the 
door to say, 44 Oh, Jean, honey, I forgot to tell 
you-all Margaret’s message. She says she 
thinks probably she can find a place for your 


66 When Jean and I Were Sophomores 

poem among the advertisements. She says it 
has several quite admirable points. Now, 
don’t you go and feel too puffed up, honey.” 

Jean stood perfectly still, staring at her. 
Then she emitted a sound similar to a surprised 
grunt, as I would describe it, though aware 
that less exact writers might call it a laugh of 
self-derision, meaning that she appreciated the 
joke of having her best poem appear on an 
advertisement page, but did not consider it very 
funny because of her aunt, you know. Very 
likely she would not understand that it is an 
honor to have anything printed anywhere in 
our magazine. That is, she might not under- 
stand unless, of course, she has had manu- 
scripts of her own rejected by all the editors. 

“ I won’t,” said Jean, referring ironically 
to Evanna’s exhortation not to feel puffed up. 
“ Come on, Nancy, let’s start for chapel. 
Why worry about their old magazine? ” But 
I perceived from the way she kept pinching my 
arm without doing it on purpose that she was 
worrying and she did care. 

As we were walking down the corridor to- 
ward the main stairway, five or six girls burst 
out of the elevator and swooped upon another 


67 


"Jean's Antipathy 

one just ahead of us. They nearly smothered 
her while she laughed and gasped and kept 
saying, “ Oh, thank you! It is awfully sweet 
of you to say so. Yes, I am glad, too. Oh, 
thank you! ” 

We were both so much absorbed in watching 
the group that we almost stumbled over a small 
person standing stock-still on the first step 
while she gazed with all her eyes at that whirl- 
wind of girls. 

“ See! ” She clutched Jean’s shoulder with 
one hand and pointed with the other. “ They 
are congratulating her.” 

“ So they are,” responded Jean pleasantly, 
for she is always nice to everybody, even queer 
creatures who grab at sophomores on stairs and 
places. “ So they are. I believe she has just 
been elected something or other. There come 
some more of her admiring companions. Just 
listen to the squeals, will you? ” 

The queer small person drew a long breath. 

“ They are congratulating her,” she repeated 
in the same hushed voice. “ She likes it.” 

“ Anybody would,” commented Jean, star- 
ing hard at the rapt face beside her. At that 
moment like a flash the expression in this 


68 When Jean and I Were Sophomores 

child’s eyes reminded me of the little fresh- 
man who had sat gazing at Margaret V. 
Adams in the reading-room. It was the very 
same, Amy Norton, the stupidest girl in col- 
lege. 

She drew another long breath, still gazing in 
that hungry way of hers. 

“ I wonder how it feels to be congratulated,” 
she said, almost as if whispering to herself. 
“ I wonder how it feels.” 

Jean did not look at me, and I did not look 
at Jean except for one single swift instant be- 
fore she had time to lift her hand to steady her 
underlip. She is just like a baby in some 
ways. 

“ Oh, I don’t know,” she said rather care- 
lessly. “ Some girls hate to be hugged.” 

The stupidest girl was not listening. 

“ Last month one of the freshmen had an 
essay published in the magazine. The day it 
came out she was sitting on a bench. Her 
friends rushed up and threw their arms around 
her. She liked it. I saw her.” 

Jean’s eyelids flickered two or three times. 
Otherwise she stood like a statue with her neck 
stiff and her head also. 


yeaft's Antipathy 69 

The stupidest girl did not move either. She 
was still watching those silly girls by the 
elevator. 

“ I know what I shall say when they con- 
gratulate 1116,” she said. “ I have it all planned. 
I shall say, ‘ Oh, thank you! It is awfully 
sweet of you to say so. Oh, thank you so 
much ! 9 That is what Miss Adams said once 
when somebody congratulated her about the 
magazine. I heard her.” 

Jean suddenly turned so red that I thought 
she was going to burst. But instead of that, 
which would have been indeed a calamity, I 
fear, she merely snorted. However, she made 
no articulate remark because the gong was 
already clanging for chapel. 

As we started down the stairs, Evanna came 
swinging in her leisurely glide around the cor- 
ner, and said: “Howdy, you-all! The little 
sure-’nough genius has a right sweet name. 
Margaret says it is bound to be famous pretty 
soon now. You watch out for it.” 

Jean looked so queer that I took hold of her 
elbow to remind her to think three times before 
she spoke. The best method is to say the 
alphabet backward, but Jean, alas! was edu- 


70 When Jean and I Were Sophomores 

cated according to a system that does not teach 
the alphabet even forward. 

Evanna went on: “Now, Jeanie, don’t 
you-all be jealous. Try to be noble, honey, 
like Margaret. She says that if you only had 
a broader acquaintance with English litera- 
ture ” 

“Yah!” began Jean after several gasping 
sounds, “ yah, yah ” 

“ You really might succeed in the course of 
a year or two ” 

“ Yah! ” continued Jean. 

“ In writing verses that might perhaps be 
published on the first page of the magazine just 
like this wonderful poem by little Amy 
Norton.” 

Jean’s mouth stayed open. After a while 
she said, “ Yah,” and closed it. 

“Just think!” flowed on Evanna’s soft, 
soothing drawl, or at least, intended so to be, 
to wit: soothing. “ Even Margaret is so im- 
patient that she can hardly bear to wait till the 
usual date for bringing out next month’s maga- 
zine. She expects it to mark an epoch in her 
editorial career.” 

J ean sat feebly down on the sidewalk. 


Jean s Antipathy 71 

“ Run along to chapel, Evanna,” she 
moaned. “ Don’t wait for me, or you’ll use 
up your last cut.” 

As soon as Evanna had turned her back Jean 
hopped up. 

“ Hurry! ” she cried. “ Nancy, think fast. 
We’ve got to save that little freshman. She 
must go to Margaret and ask to have that poem 
back. Oh, the stupid, stupid, stupid! Oh, 
that dreadful little stupid! We’ve got to save 
her.” 

Presently I said, “ It will be saving Mar- 
garet, too. It will be saving her from making 
a mistake.” 

And Jean was willing to do even that. 


IV 


PURSUER AND PURSUED 

Though Jean insists that the above title 
sounds more stupid than the essay itself (but 
I do not think that she meant to say it exactly 
that way), yet I have decided to keep it be- 
cause I cannot find any other so truthful in its 
denotation of the subject, except Backbones . 
And the word backbones, I fear, has a connota- 
tion quite dissimilar from that of petitions, and 
also inharmonious with the narrative itself, 
which is not about skeletons. (N. B. By the 
word denotation I mean the same thing as the 
author of our freshman rhetoric, and likewise 
by the word connotation. To illustrate: the 
word backbones denotes the so-called spinal 
column of a person’s human body or otherwise, 
as fishes have them too, whereas the same word 
connotes also the memory of physiology and 
all sorts of other bones, including whalebones, 
as well as the idea of character. It is the latter 
with which this story deals, commencing with 
the next paragraph.) 


72 


Pursuer and Pursued 73 

Late on a December afternoon of my sopho- 
more year at college, a young girl stood in the 
middle of her study, her finger at her lip, her 
head on one side as she listened intently to the 
rapid footsteps retreating from her door. As 
each firm thud sounded unmistakably farther 
away, her brow smoothed, her hand dropped, 
her worried brow cleared. Suddenly she 
giggled. But even while the laughter still 
bubbled in her throat, she was moving on 
stealthy tiptoe into the inside bedroom of the 
suite, which had a window opening upon the 
corridor. 

The reason why I know how that girl be- 
haved while she was alone is readily explained 
by the statement that I was the girl. It was I 
myself who happened to be spending the holi- 
days at college, together with Jean Dickinson 
and approximately forty other stranded 
students and also Luella Starr. Jean and I 
were staying because the journey home was 
too long to take in such a short vacation, and 
furthermore we thought it would be better for 
our health to stay than to go visiting. We 
could sleep late and go to bed early and rest 
a lot and have whipped cream on everything, 


74 When Jean and I W ire Sophomores 

a privilege due to the fact that the institution 
cows had to be milked just the same whether 
there were a thousand girls to drink it or only 
forty-three, as above mentioned. Luella Starr 
was staying to do a special topic. At least 
that is what she told Jean. But her actions 
indicated that she had another object in view. 
She wanted me to sign a petition which I did 
not want to sign and which I had almost prom- 
ised Evanna Allan I wouldn’t. 

From these few introductory sentences, it 
will be easy to infer that I was standing with 
my finger at my lip and so forth, because I had 
heard some one come to my door and then go 
away again at sight of my engaged sign. 
Luella Starr had splendid principles, and 
would no more think of knocking over an en- 
gaged sign than she would dream of allowing 
her freshman sister to walk down senior cor- 
ridor without being invited. 

My suspicions concerning my caller’s iden- 
tity were indeed well founded. When I 
poked my head out of the window of the inside 
bedroom I saw Luella swinging around the 
transverse on her way to her own study. That 
made the fourth time she had come to my room 


Pursuer and Pursued 


IS 


since the rising-bell. This was the third day 
of vacation. There I was in danger of starv- 
ing to death before Jean should return from a 
trip to New York and get me something to 
eat. I had not dared to enter the dining-room 
since the previous day when Luella had almost 
caught me at luncheon. I do not like to hide 
behind doors. A sophomore ought to be 
dignified when there are freshmen watching. 

Now as I watched the resolute fling of 
Luella’s old gray skirt departing from my 
neighborhood, I felt that the moment had come 
for a dash to the private grocery shop down 
in the basement. Being in too much of a 
hurry to go around through the door, I pushed 
the window higher and slid one foot over the 
sill. Oh! Hist! What was that? 

That was a swish of petticoats and a patter 
of feet as some one fluttered around from the 
fire-wall stairs just beyond our alleyway. In- 
stantly I uttered a spontaneous shriek even 
while reflecting that this person could not 
possibly be Luella, because Luella was at the 
other end of the corridor, and anyhow she sets 
her heels down harder when she walks. It was 
Jean. 


76 When Jean and I Were Sophomores 

“ Oh, Jean, you horrid girl! I thought you 
were she.” 

“ Well,” rejoined Jean, beginning to un- 
button her gloves, which she was able to do 
without difficulty as she was not carrying even 
one single box of candy though her bag is very 
small, “ I am certainly not he.” 

This retort started me to giggling, though 
as I consider it now I realize that it was not 
the highest form of humor. Instead of smil- 
ing in sympathy, Jean looked sober. 

“ You’re nervous,” she said, as if I were to 
blame. “ You never laugh so foolishly except 
on Friday evenings when we are tired out. I 
do believe you have not stirred outdoors for 
exercise since I left for New York. Have 
you? ” 

“ I don’t dare to go out. Luella Starr is 
after me. She fairly haunts this corridor. 
Already to-day she has been here about twenty- 
seven times, or maybe not quite so many. I 
keep my door locked whether there is an en- 
gaged sign on it or not. I go to bed at dark 
so she cannot see any light over my transom. 
Since luncheon yesterday I have had nothing 
to eat except two pickles and one lemon and 


Pursuer and Pursued 


77 


some cheese and a box of crackers. She is 
sure to pounce on me if I even peek out to smell 
the dinner. Oh, Jean, last night I simply had 
to hold my nose. They had angel cake with 
chocolate frosting for dessert.” 

“ What does she want you to do? ” asked 
Jean, though I had not told her that Luella 
wanted anything at all. 

“ Sign a petition. And I don’t want to. 
It is an unkind petition. It would be a cruel 
thing.” 

“ A petition about what? ” inquired Jean 
with her judicial look as if she had not yet made 
up her mind if I was right or not. I have 
always advised Jean to study to be a judge 
some day. 

“ A petition to protest against Miss Kline’s 
appointment to conduct the class in mathe- 
matical astronomy. Only three students have 
elected it for next semester. As soon as Luella 
heard that it was to be in charge of the 
graduate fellow instead of the professor, she 
got up this petition. Of course Evanna won’t 
sign it because she admires Miss Kline such a 
lot. That leaves only me to sign it with 
Luella, and I don’t want to. Miss Kline is 


78 When "Jean and I Were Sophomores 

so dear and sweet and diffident and cares so 
much. And you ought to see the way she 
smiles when I meet her. I won’t sign it. I 
won’t ! ” 

“ Why not tell Luella so and stop her bother- 
ing you? ” 

“ Tell her so? ” I gasped. “ Why-ee, I 
don’t like to tell her so. She’d make such a 
fuss.” 

“ Um*m,” remarked Jean. 

Here I wriggled — not much, you under- 
stand, though it did bang my head a little 
against the sash above. 

“But, Jeanie, she is so sure she is right! 
She talks and talks and talks about permitting 
irrational sentiments to interfere with solid 
convictions. She means that the sentiments 
belong to me and the convictions to her. She 
says that the standards of the institution are 
at stake. She says that her entire future 
career depends upon the thoroughness of her 
training in this particular course. She says 
that she has complete confidence in my open 
mind and sense of justice.” 

“ Your mind is open enough,” commented 
J ean dryly. (I call a speech dry when it gives 


Pursuer and Pursued 79 

a person a sort of crisped up feeling as if 
scorched or tingling or something in that line 
of sensation.) 

“You mean that I generally side with the 
last person who tries to persuade me,” I re- 
sponded keenly. (When I use the word keen 
I refer to intelligence, as is illustrated by the 
preceding remark. I have decided to incor- 
porate in my literary style the habit of employ- 
ing an occasional parenthesis after the manner 
of Charles Lamb, whose Essays of Elia are 
indeed charming, especially for freshman Eng- 
lish work.) 

“ Seems like it sometimes.” This reply was 
uttered in Jean’s voice. 

“ Well! ” I ejaculated in triumph, “ then of 
course I am obliged to keep out of Luella’s 
way. Otherwise I would be subjecting my 
judgment to undue influence, you see. You 
ought to hear her talk. She says that Evanna 
is a creature of emotions and absolutely de- 
clines to listen to reason, but I am different. 
She says that she understands my reluctance 
perfectly, that it is the result of my ignorance 
of the principles in the case. She says that 
only a little more discussion is needed to bring 


8o When Jean and I Were Sophomores 

me to a sincere endorsement of her side of the 
question. That is why she is after me, you 
see,” I concluded in a melancholy tone. 

“ I see,” said Jean. 

Suddenly I seemed to whirl around inside 
my mind, and burst out like a freshman who 
has been worried fretful. 

“ Jean, it bothers me so that I can’t sleep. 
I am not getting rested one bit. I don’t want 
to sign it, I tell you. Evanna says that Miss 
Kline will not be able to stay at college the rest 
of the year unless she has this class, because so 
few have elected her special subjects. I al- 
most promised not to sign the petition. But 
Luella is going to make me do it. She won’t 
let me say no.” 

J ean drew down the corners of her mouth in 
an unbecoming way, but uttered no audible 
comment. 

“ And I hate to say no even to a peddler. 
If I see him in time, I run and lock the door so 
that I shan’t have to refuse him to his face and 
watch him turn away discouraged and dis- 
appointed. I can’t bear to say no.” 

“ But you let him stand there and knock and 
knock and waste his time. Maybe he would. 


Pursuer and Pursued 81 

prefer the no quick in the first place. I don’t 

believe it is honest or kind ” 

Here I twirled around and shut the window, 
because I look homely when I try to keep from 
crying. Jean came through the door just as 
I was pulling the papers out of my desk so as 
to put it in order without turning my face to- 
ward her. She took her bag into her bedroom 
and tidied herself a little before she appeared 
again just as if nothing had happened, and 
said that she had a new idea. 

“ This place is deathly lonesome after New 
York, Nancy. I know I am going to be home- 
sick unless you help to amuse me. Let’s pre- 
tend that Luella is a besieging army, while you 
and I are forces holding the citadel. You need 
not go outside the room at all, if you don’t wish 
to do so. We’ll have ambushes and sallies and 
forays for food. Maybe we’ll capture a few 

prisoners for a spread ” 

This reminded me that I was starving. So 
I jumped up, exclaiming, “ I’m hungry. It is 
time to make a foray now.” 

“ All right,” said Jean. “ I will scurry 
down to the store and capture provisions while 
you fix the fortifications and so forth. Don’t 


82 When Jean and I Were Sophomores 

you remember how Csesar used to do things in 
the Commentaries ? This game will be just as 
good as a review. Good-bye.” 

After reflecting a moment, I prepared the 
fortifications by latching the corridor window. 
Then I went into the study and rolling out the 
tea-table arranged the empty dishes around an 
electric plate. It was fun to scuttle down to 
get a kettleful of water at the end of the cor- 
ridor, pretending all the time — or anyhow 
half-pretending — that Indians were lurking in 
the alleyways I had to pass. The water was 
boiling before Jean came darting in with the 
provisions. After taking down the engaged 
sign and relocking the door, I rushed to see 
what she had brought. 

“ You didn’t get very much,” I wailed, for I 
did feel hollow. 

“ Some of it broke,” she said. “ Just as I 
was reconnoitering around the elevator with 
my arms loaded, Evanna came swaying with 
her long-limbed glide out of nowhere, and 
called me to stop. She inquired why you-all 
lived behind an engaged sign in vacation, and 
never poked your nose into the dining-room. 
She said she was right anxious to talk to you 


Pursuer and Pursued 83 

about Miss Kline before Luella Starr got hold 
of you. She asked if I knew how you felt 
about the petition . 55 

“ What did you say ? 55 

“ I did not say anything because it seemed 
easier to drop a few bundles than to answer, 
especially as I am not sure exactly how you do 
feel. I meant to hold on to the eggs and the 
sugar but my hands were mixed up. Two 
eggs smashed, Nancy, at seven cents apiece! 
I almost mingled my briny tears with the 
yellow that went oozing around in the 
sugar . 55 

“ What did Evanna say ? 55 

“ She declared she was coming up after din- 
ner to camp in our alleyway, because she 
reckons she hankers to see you to-night. I told 
her to bring something to eat 55 

“ She ought to trust me , 55 I complained. 
“ Haven’t I promised to do my best to per- 
suade Luella not to send in her old petition? 
I told her that I consider the faculty capable 
of arranging the curricula without my butting 
in. I think it is rude to meddle . 55 

Jean blinked, but remarked only: “ Two 
eggs ! Two whole real eggs absolutely wasted. 


84 When "Jean and I Were Sophomores 

They did not even distract Evanna’s atten- 
tion.” 

By this time I had unwrapped the bread, 
and asked where the butter was. 

“ I’m no millionaire,” explained Jean. “ It 
was my last fifteen cents that bought the eggs 
because they are more nourishing. It is pos- 
sible to sustain life on eggs alone.” 

“ Not my life,” I informed her. “ And 
assuredly not on those eggs. Hurry with the 
cocoa while I begin on my end of the loaf.” 

That was the best bread I ever ate. Or, to 
be an unprejudiced historian, it tasted as if it 
was going to be the best: for — dreadful to re- 
late! — my first bite proved my last — tempo- 
rarily, that is to say. Hist! We heard some- 
body coming. 

Thump, thump, thump, sounded two de- 
termined heels approaching in the corridor, 
Down the alleyway they tramped. A loud and 
resolute double knock was followed by a vigor- 
ous rattle of the knob. Next a swish of tear- 
ing paper told of a wasteful attack on my note- 
pad. The crack of a pencil point apparently 
extorted an “ Oh, sugar! ” in a tone so far from 
sweet that I rushed for a sofa pillow to smother 


Pursuer and Pursued 85 

Jean’s sputter. A second resentful rattle of 
the knob may have drowned the ensuing snort. 
At all events, the following minute heard the 
thud, thud, thud of additional steps retreating 
from our citadel. 

“ Saved! ” I ejaculated softly, for the tran- 
som was open. “ Saved! Saved! ” 

“ She left a note on your pad,” Jean in- 
formed me. 

“ Poor little pad! ” I babbled, not so much 
from inanity as in the bliss of relief from 
Luella’s menacing proximity. “ Poor little 
inoffensive pad ! It never did her any harm.” 

“ Aren’t you going to read it? ” 

“ Not until I feel a little stronger, thank 
you. Ah, Jean, did you by any chance pur- 
chase an article of food so strengthening as 
cheese? ” 

“ No,” she snapped. “ See here, Nancy, I 
intend to unlock the door and get that note. 
It may be something important.” 

“ What Luella has to say is always im- 
portant. I cannot understand how the faculty 
has rubbed along so many years without her. 
Myself, I could exist fairly well ” 

“Idiot!” remarked Jean as she marched 


86 W hen "Jean and I JV zre Sophomores 

across the room and secured the note. It 
covered four sheets of my precious pad. 

“ Read it, please,” I begged faintly, fanning 
myself with a cracker as a hint for her to soften 
the blow. 

This was the note: 

“ Nancy Belle Blake, I must say that it is a 
most peculiar and suspicious circumstance that 
I am utterly unable to find you or any trace of 
you in any part of the institution, though the 
records show that you are supposed to be 
spending the present vacation within these 
walls. Such a mysterious disappearance is un- 
doubtedly a case for the authorities to investi- 
gate. Therefore I give you warning that I shall 
report the facts of the affair to headquarters if 
you fail to respond to this notice before nine 
p. m. to-night. I shall expect to see you at my 
room this evening, as I have a most important 
communication to make to you. Otherwise 
a thorough search will be organized to-morrow. 

“ P. S. In fifteen minutes exactly I pro- 
pose to return to this door in order to make 
sure that you have seen this note.” 

My hands flew into the air. “ Oh, where is 
the mucilage? Here, quick, hurry, get the pad 
and paste those sheets back before she comes. 



( < 


y y 


READ IT, PLEASE 







* 




























































































































































Pursuer and Pursued 87 

She’ll think I have not read it if it is still hang- 
ing on the hook. Oh, hurry ! ” 

“ But how about to-morrow? ” 

“ Oh, never mind about to-morrow. This 
is to-day. I can’t see her. I can’t, I tell you. 
I won’t ! Don’t you realize how she bulldozes 
me? She is so sure she is right. I am afraid 
she will convince me. Or anyhow she will 
persuade me to sign that petition, and that 
would be dreadful.” 

“ Why — not — say — no? ” 

“ Because ” — I was tossing things out of my 
desk, “ because — oh, where is that mucilage? — 
because I don’t like to, I tell you. She is sure 
she is right. She says she knows I am above 
being a narrow-minded, emotional, irrational 
feminine creature who is swayed by feeling 
instead of principle. She says of course 
she does not expect anything different of 
Evanna.” 

“ Don’t be a coward, Nancy.” 

“ Wh-what!” 

“ Don’t be a coward. There is no reason 
whatever why you should make trouble for 
Miss Kline by signing that petition except 
from the cowardly wish to follow the easiest 


88 When "Jean and I W zre Sophomores 

path for yourself. Of course it is easier to 
yield. It takes backbone to oppose Luella 
Starr. It takes grit. But let’s not skulk any 
longer. Let’s fight out in the open. Don’t 
paste those pages back on the pad. Please 
don’t. When she comes back, let’s fling open 
the door and tell her frankly ” 

“Hush! Somebody’s turning into the 
alleyway.” 

Jean hardly breathed as she stood there 
bending toward me. I also remained motion- 
less as stone, my hand on the knob. 

A double patter of steps outside announced 
the approach of two persons. A gentle knock 
ensued. They listened, then rapped again. 
Their skirts rustled. We heard Miss Kline’s 
voice. 

“ I am sorry that she is out, for I wanted you 
to meet Miss Blake before you leave. She is 
one of my most interesting girls.” 

“ Was she the rosy-cheeked sophomore you 
pointed out in chapel last week? The bright- 
eyed little creature as alert as a robin. She 
certainly looked interested in life. In what 
way is she particularly interesting? ” 

“ I can hardly explain. Perhaps because 


Pursuer and Pursued 89 

she is so full of possibilities. In some respects 
she is surprisingly naive and childlike, curi- 
ously unformed for her age. Her responsive- 
ness is her great charm as well as her chief 
weakness. She seems so easily influenced by 
the other girls that sometimes I doubt if 
she has any backbone of her own. It is a 
pity—’; . 

The voice drifted down the corridor. Jean 
glanced at me swiftly, then looked at the tea- 
table. 

“ The cocoa is cold,” she said. 

I was breathing fast, being astonished at 
Miss Kline. 

“ Jean, she said that I haven’t any back- 
bone.” 

Jean shrugged her shoulders, as I could see 
from her back. 

“ Jean, it was Miss Kline. I thought she 
liked me.” 

f 

“ She does,” said Jean. 

“ But she said that I haven’t any backbone.” 

“ Well, have you? ” asked Jean. 

Suddenly the awful ingratitude of it all 
swept over me like a boiling wave. 

“ She talks about me like that to a stranger. 


90 When Jean and I W zre Sophomores 

She talks like that ! And you know how much 
I have endured for her sake. She talks like 
that after all I have done for her — not sign- 
ing the petition, and electing mathematical 
astronomy and everything. Then she criti- 
cizes and says I haven’t any backbone of my 
own. I guess if she doesn’t trouble about my 
feelings, I need not worry about hers. I am 
going to find Luella.” 

“ What! ” exclaimed Jean. 

“ You heard how she talked about me. I 
am going straight to sign that petition.” 

Though I kept my head turned, I knew very 
well how Jean was looking at me. But Miss 
Ivline had not been talking about her. 

“ I am going now to sign that petition,” I 
said. “ I am going now.” 

I heard a rustle behind me, but nothing else, 
not a movement or a sound. After a moment 
I clicked the key and rattled the knob while 
I waited for Jean to say something. She did 
not utter a word. 

It seemed the longest time before I made up 
my mind to look around at her. She was cry- 
ing, with her face down on her arms. 

Just then, thump, thump, thump, Luella 


Pursuer a?id Pursued 91 

marched into our alleyway. I jerked open the 
door quick. 

“ Well,” she exclaimed, “ I have caught you 
at last.” 

“No!” I was holding to the knob with 
both hands. “ No, I will not sign that peti- 
tion. No, no, no!” 

She stared at me. 

“ Nobody wants you to sign it,” she said. 
“ I discovered two days ago that Miss Kline is 
really more of an authority on the subject than 
the professor himself. Consequently I have 
torn up the petition. That is why I have been 
chasing you high and low since yesterday morn- 
ing. I fail to understand why you have 
avoided me.” 

You should have heard Jean giggle. After- 
ward she told me that she had been crying not 
for Miss Kline but because she was worrying 
about my character. 

Isn’t Jean a funny girl ! Of course I meant 
to say no anyhow. 


V 


THE TONGUE IS A FIRE 

When I was still young enough to wear my 
hair hanging in two long braids I used to im- 
prove my mind by memorizing a piece of 
literature while engaged in braiding them. 
During the time that this custom endured — 
much more than two weeks — I learned to speak 
“ The Pied Piper of Hamlin,” “ The Night 
Before Christmas ” (selecting these works as 
more interesting than many others, such as 
“ The Cloud,” which is mostly scenery, or 
“ The Chambered Nautilus,” which has no 
story in it), and a chapter in the Bible about 
the tongue. Ever since committing the latter 
to memory, I have tried to be careful what I 
say, for indeed the tongue is a fire, as is illus- 
trated in the following episode in Jean’s col- 
lege career. 

It happened one evening in January. From 
my place at a side table half-way down the 
huge dining-room I could, by moving my head 
92 


93 


The Tongue is a Fire 

slightly, catch a glimpse of the first senior 
table away near the door. On this particular 
night I kept turning around so often in order 
to glance anxiously in that direction that my 
neighbors noticed it and began to chaff me on 
such obvious interest in somebody up there. 

“ Don’t you-all know that it isn’t polite to 
X>ay so much attention to a person who is not 
sitting at your own table? ” teased Evanna. 

“ The said person appears to be at that first 
table where they are having a birthday feast,” 
put in Emily. “ Mighty pretty, isn’t it, with 
the yellow-shaded candles and the daffodils 
and the cream and white and gold of all those 
festive frocks? When we are all grown up to 
be seniors ourselves, I move that we have a 
birthday party every night in the week, cele- 
brating for each member of every family once 
a month. Jean would like that, 1 know, 
especially the ice-cream. By the way, where 
is Jean this evening? ” 

“ Hush ! ” Evanna pointed an awed finger. 
“ That creature sitting away yonder at the 
honored right of the birthday senior — do you- 
all reckon that is our little Jean? ” 

The smiling quickness with which the others 


94 IF hen "Jean and I IFere Sophomores 

turned to gaze showed that they all like Jean 
pretty well, and always expect her to do or 
say something funny. 

“ Watch how she is making them laugh,” 
said Emily. 

Quick as a flash I whirled around to look. 

“ Oh, I do hope she is careful! ” I groaned 
before I could stop myself. Luella heard me. 

“ Careful about what? ” 

Sara chuckled: “ Careful not to make them 
laugh too hard. She certainly has a gift for 
comedy.” 

“ And for telling ordinary things in a 
humorous way,” chimed in Emily. 

“Ordinary things! Humph!” grunted 
Luella. “ Nothing ordinary ever happens to 
Jean.” 

I hurried to apologize. “ Jean does not 
mean to exaggerate. It is only that she wants 
to be as interesting as possible. You expect 
it of her. You are all ready to laugh every 
time she opens her mouth. It is your fault — it 
is our fault that she ” 

“ What are you talking about, Nancy 
Blake? ” demanded Emily. “ She is fascinat- 
ing ” 


95 


The Tongue is a Fire 

“ Good as a play,” added somebody else. 

But I had seen two or three glance at me as 
if they agreed with what I had said. I was so 
worried that I even refused to take any apple- 
pie. 

“ Lucky Jean! ” sighed one of the girls, “ to 
be invited out to birthday ice-cream on apple- 
pie evening! I wish I were a popular sopho- 
more with a reputation for wit and a chance of 
being elected member of the Pandora Club.” 

“ Oh, it isn’t the club that matters,” I burst 
out without thinking that others were listen- 
ing. “ It is something else a lot more im- 
portant. They invited her on purpose. They 
wish to watch her. They want to be sure about 
her. Jean can’t come back next year unless the 
Alumnae Aid Society will lend her some money 
as a scholarship. Two of those seniors at that 
table have older sisters on the scholarship com- 
mittee. I am sure they invited her to dinner 
so that they could study her character. I 
warned her to be careful how she talked, be- 
cause strangers do not always understand her 
way of saying things. I warned her, and yet 
she keeps making them laugh. Everything 
depends — her whole future ” 


96 When "Jean and I W zre Sophomores 

“ Nonsense! ” said Luella. “ A scholarship 
loan is given to a girl because she is an excellent 
student, not because she has learned how to 
manage her tongue. Maybe Jean does go a 
little too far sometimes when she is in a gale. 
That is no proof that she won’t be an honor to 
the college when she grows up.” 

I knew how a person feels when she says she 
could have cut out her tongue. I answered 
only, “ Of course, she will be an honor. Isn’t 
she the brightest girl in the class even now? ” 
I used the auxiliary will instead of would on 
purpose to show that of course she was to be 
granted the scholarship loan. But on my way 
through the dining-room, when I glanced to- 
ward that senior table, I felt worried again. 
Jean was leaning forward, her merry face 
alight as she chattered away, eyes and teeth 
and curly hair all twinkling with fun. Those 
at her end of the table were bending toward 
her with eager attention. But I saw two of 
them catch each other’s eye and then look away, 
as if they did not quite approve of something 
she was saying. They were the two seniors 
who had sisters on the alumna? committee for 
awarding scholarships. 


97 


The Tongue is a Fire 

While I was waiting for the elevator, a small 
bubbling sort of freshman after half a minute 
of respectfully regarding me twisted around to 
stare at Miss Try on, one of the instructors in 
history. The youngster’s eyes were round as 
dollars. She burst into speech. 

“ Did you see her? Did you see Miss Try on 
pass? Isn’t she beautiful? I think it is the 
saddest thing — the awfullest saddest thing! 
She lives in your town, doesn’t she? You are 
well acquainted with her family and all, aren’t 
you? It is like a real novel — the story of how 
she dismissed her fiance when she discovered 
that there was insanity in his family. It was 
in hers too, you know. No wonder she looks 
like snow and roses and burnt out ashes ! All 
the girls are talking about it. And to think 
that you have seen him, and your mother 
knows her mother and ” 

“ Where did you hear that nonsense? ” I de- 
manded as soon as I caught my breath, for I 
had certainly supposed that nobody at college 
except Jean and me knew this secret. 

The small freshman backed away timidly, 
for my voice probably sounded sharp. I was 
angry enough. 


98 When Jean and I Wi zre Sophomores 

“ A crowd of us in the gym yesterday — Miss 
Dickinson told us. Some of the girls were 
raving over Miss Tryon’s looks and wondering 
why she never married. One of them cried 
afterward.” 

Instantly I had a vision of dewy-eyed quiver- 
ing-lipped little idiots swayed by Jean’s elo- 
quence. People always listen to her even when 
she chatters nonsense. And a story like this! 
She had learned it by mistake. I never meant 
to let any one know it. And here it was 
spreading like wild-fire through the whole col- 
lege! For several minutes I thought that I 
never wanted to speak to Jean again. 

But after chapel when she came dancing up 
behind me in the corridor and slid her arm 
around my waist in an ecstatic hug, I could 
not bear to spoil her pleasure in the dinner and 
everything. 

“ Come along, poky,” she chanted. “ Oh, 
Nancy, I’ve had the dandiest time! ” 

“ I never heard you say dandy before.” 

1 “ Oh, well, elegant, scrumptious, gorgeous. 

J immense — suit yourself. The point is that 
I’ve had a bully time. Cracky! ” 

With a joyful little hop and skip, she circled 


99 


7 he 'Tongue is a Fire 

in front of me and tweaked my nose, an un- 
usual act, indeed, and one that she dared only 
in moments of extraordinary elation. 

“ Oh, Nancy, what do you suppose? Emily 
told me that she was watching a girl fill out a 
blank for our class-book, and in answer to the 
questions: Who is the wittiest girl in the class? 
Who is the best poet? Who is the best student? 
she put down the same name. Me!” Jean 
hugged herself gleefully. “ Oh, Nancy, I did 
not know that I was so deserving. At least,” 
she emended scrupulously, “ I wasn’t quite 
sure.” 

I tried not to chuckle. 

“ Jeanie, you could be so nice — you really 
could if you would only ” 

“ But I am nice,” she protested earnestly. 
“ The seniors think so, anyway. They in- 
vited me to the birthday party. They lis- 
tened.” 

“ What did you say? ” 

“ Nothing much — just whatever came into 
my head. They encouraged me by laughing. 
I love girls who laugh at what I say, especially 
when it is something foolish.” 

“ What did you say? ” I demanded again. 


ioo When "Jean and I Were Sophomores 

“ Lots of silly things— just comments and 
remarks. You know how I do.” 

I certainly did know. She does go too far 
sometimes in making fun of everything. 

Jean went on reminiscently: “ I told them 
how the brilliant mathematical prodigy in the 
graduate department shrieked over that mus- 
tard plaster, and how a sentimental junior 
weeps on all the faculty necks ” 

“ Only on Miss Lane’s,” I corrected her. 
“ I don’t believe Miss Lane thought you would 
repeat what she said about that interview, 
though it did sound funny.” 

“You should have heard it when I had fixed 
it up a little with artistic touches. The seniors 
surely enjoyed it. I told them about your 
valentines and quoted the comic ones. And 
of course that squabble between Professor 
Johns and ” 

“Jean Dickinson!” I exclaimed in in- 
credulous dismay. 

“ The seniors laughed ” 

“ But, Jeanie, don’t you see that it is not 
loyal to spread such stories, especially concern- 
ing the absent? That is how gossip grows into 
slander. You know that chapter about ‘ the 


101 


The Tongue is a Fire 

tongue is a fire.’ We must be careful what 
we say. Each time you go a bit further with- 
out realizing it. At first you were only saucy, 
but now you are inclined to be really im- 
pertinent and irreverent. It is not good 
taste to make fun of some things. I hate to 
preach ” 

“ No? ” Jean exclaimed in a tone of tragic 
commiseration. “ And yet you have to do it 
such a lot ! I am so sorry ! ” 

I did not smile. “ You know it is because 
I care,” I said. 

Jean pressed a repentant cheek against my 
sleeve. 

“You are the best friend I have, Nancy. 
You are the only one who takes the trouble to 
tell me the truth about my faults here at col- 
lege. The other girls are frank about unim- 
portant things like the way I do my hair and 
so forth. But you think about my char- 
acter ” 

Here she broke off to bow radiantly to Miss 
Tryon, who happened to pass us just then. 
The icy nod that she received in return left 
her gasping. 

“What in the world!” She lifted an 


102 When "Jean and I Were Sophomores 

amazed face. “ Did you catch that? Even 
if a person has broken her engagement she 
ought to remember her manners. Every one 
has worries. That is no excuse for freezing 
another human being. I don’t go around 
snubbing freshmen, even if I am anxious un- 
derneath all the time for fear I can’t come 
back next year. I thought she liked me.” 

My cheeks burned like fire. Miss Tryon 
had looked straight past my shoulder as if she 
had not even seen I was there. What was 
the matter? Always before this she had taken 
special pains to smile and speak whenever we 
met, because we know each other at home. 

Jean thought I was sympathizing with her. 

“Why, Nancy! Why, Nancy, you dear 
sensitive old girl! You need not feel so badly 
about her treatment of me. I don’t mind. 
Who cares about a rude person like that? 
Rudeness only hurts the one who does it. A 
snub is so mean and small — a weapon of the 
weak. I always suspected that Miss Tryon 
would turn into a fretful old lady some day, 
because even now her voice has a plaintive 
note when she is tired. I dare say she is feel- 
ing peevish this evening.” 


103 


The "Tongue is a Fire 

I cleared my throat. “ She cut me. She 
pretended not to see me. I don’t understand.” 

“ Maybe she is beginning to be queer. In- 
sanity in the family and everything.” 

At that word, suddenly I knew the reason. 

“ Jean, she has found out what the fresh- 
men are saying about her. She thinks I have 
told that story about her fiance . She blames 
me. Oh, Jean, how could you repeat that 
story to anybody? I did not mean that even 
you should hear it. When I showed you 
Mother’s letter I forgot that paragraph was 
in it. And now she blames me because I am 
the only one here who knows her home affairs. 
She thinks I have spread a story like that— a 
private, personal, intimate trouble. She thinks 
1 spread it.” 

“You!” Jean’s voice rang with derision 
of the idea. “ If she is the least bit acquainted 
with you, she ought to be sure you could not 
possibly do it. You never repeat unkind 

gossip. Now, if it were Emily Allan ” 

She stopped short, her eyes rounding. “ Why, 
Nancy, am I as horrid as Emily used to be 
last year? Am I — dangerous? ” 

Before I could decide how to answer, we 


104 When Jean and I Were Sophomores 

reached our alleyway and found on the door a 
note to me from the Dean. Jean was excited. 

“ What can it be, Nancy? Why does she 
request to see you in the office at your earliest 
convenience? Have you been begging for 
rides on wood-sleighs or skipping classes too 
often? Oho! You, steady old Nancy! Just 
refer the Dean to me if she charges you with 
wrecking a few banks or breaking the ten 
o’clock regulation more times than you are 
allowed. I’ll give you the very highest refer- 
ences. Item: Nancy B. Blake, reputation 
good, character better, personality best. Oh, 
oh, oh! what can it be? ” 

“ Maybe something about next year,” I sug- 
gested, for I was puzzled too. “ Tutoring, 
perhaps.” 

“Next year!” Jean turned sober on the 
instant. “ Nancy, how shall I bear it if I can’t 
come back next year? ” 

“ But you are the best student in the class,” 
I reminded her. “ You are worth much more 
than a scholarship loan. The college needs 
girls like you to reflect glory upon it after you 
graduate. I am sure you will come back. 
That is,” I hesitated, suddenly remembering 


i°5 


The Tongue is a Fire 

those two seniors who had caught each other’s 
eyes at the birthday table, “ I am almost 
sure.” 

Jean’s lashes flew upward. 

“ Almost sure! Nancy, what do you mean? 
Yesterday you said you could not imagine any 
doubt. You said that if the Aid Society 
should have only enough money to keep one 
girl at college, you knew I would be that girl. 
Oh, Nancy, I think you are mean to change 
your mind.” 

“ They were watching you,” I mumbled. 
“ Two of those seniors have sisters on the com- 
mittee that awards the scholarships. They 
were listening to you. I think they wanted to 
find out whether you — whether you ” 

“ They laughed,” interrupted Jean. “ They 
all laughed. They leaned forward to listen to 
me. They enjoyed it.” 

“ If you do not come back next year, Jean,” 
I said, “ I shall not come either. I couldn’t 
bear it.” 

Jean looked hard at me and then walked 
across the corridor to one of the deep-em- 
brasured windows, and stood there staring out, 
while I went on to the Dean’s office. After- 


106 When Jean and I Wt ire Sophomores 

ward she told me her thoughts then and also 
what happened later in the library. 

Her thoughts were as follows. She said 
that she felt all at once that she was not worth 
a penny of anybody’s money. She was sure 
that the alumnse would refuse to give her a 
loan. This was probably the last time that she 
would ever be standing at a college window on 
the tenth of January, looking out at the 
shadows of those magnificent evergreens upon 
the snow. It was the moonlight that caused 
the shadows. She wished that she had realized 
last October that she could never have another 
autumn in this lovely place; for if she had been 
able to read the future then, she would have 
spent more time admiring the foliage and 
breathing the frosty, spicy air in order to make 
up for all the years of absence from the eager 
sweet days in this beautiful college. 

Next thing Jean knew, she was looking on 
the bright side, as usual. She reasoned that it 
is always the unexpected that happens. Or 
anyhow a proverb says so, and a proverb is 
accumulated wisdom. Now if you expect the 
worst, of course it cannot happen, for it is not 
unexpected, you see. It seemed to Jean that, 


The Tongue is a Fire 107 

if she prepared to be disappointed, she had a 
very good chance to be surprised. At this 
point in her meditations the idea of prepara- 
tion reminded her that a particular reference 
book in the library had been promised to her 
for a portion of the evening. Forgetting that 
she had been anxious to wait for my news from 
the Dean, she rushed to secure the book. 

After carrying it to an alcove and settling 
down to take notes, she was so much bothered 
by tiptoeing sophomores, each one bending 
over her shoulder in turn to inquire how far 
ahead the book was promised, that she gathered 
up her papers impatiently and climbed to the 
gallery in search of a less frequented nook. 

Finding a deserted alcove, she set to work 
anew. Now and then she paused to rest her 
eyes by taking a few last looks at the glisten- 
ing oak of the long table, at the empty chairs 
along either side, and the rows of laden shelves 
behind. When the sharp jingle of a bell at 
the librarian’s desk warned students that the 
end of the evening had arrived, she caught her- 
self listening with a woeful droop of her mouth. 

“ This,” she reflected, taking a deep sniff of 
the warm leather-scented air, “ is maybe the 


108 When Jean and I Were Sophomores 

last time that I shall ever be sitting here in the 
library at half after nine on a tenth of Jan- 
uary.” A sense of humor of which any girl 
might be proud rescued her from such a senti- 
mental mood. Her next farewell sniff ended 
in a giggle as she snapped an elastic band 
around her notes and dived beneath the table 
to hunt for a stray eraser. 

Fumbling on the floor, and peering here and 
there about the legs of various chairs, she 
barely noticed the bustle of departure through- 
out the vast apartment — rustle of papers, 
shuffle of books, click of chairs pushed back, 
retreating footfalls. Even the tap of steps ap- 
proaching in the gallery escaped her attention 
until the sound of a low-toned sentence 
startled her to listen. 

“ I am not at all sure that she is worth keep- 
ing at college.” 

Another voice protested: “ But she is one 
of the brightest members of the sophomore 
class, and unusually attractive in her person- 
ality. Aren’t you a bit hard on her for losing 
her head a little at the birthday dinner this 
evening? I admit that her tongue rather ran 
away with her ” 


1 ’he Tongue is a Fire 109 

“ She went altogether too far in the way of 
ridicule and exaggeration. It shows a serious 
defect of taste as well as judgment, if nothing 
else. When there are so many other girls with 
higher standards and finer instincts in need of 
aid ” 

“ Oh, no, no, you are much too severe on the 
child. There was nothing ill-natured or 
malicious in her chatter, and really she has the 
excuse of her temperament. Anybody can 
see that she is impulsive. Her gay fun never 
really hurt anybody. Whereas if you con- 
trast Miss Blake’s cruel and unjustifiable 
tittle-tattle ” 

Jean, petrified beneath the concealing table, 
held her breath. By the name, Miss Blake, 
they meant me. 

The other senior broke in. “ Wasn’t it 
dreadful ! The Dean was sure that Miss 
Blake would refute the report that she was 
responsible for that gossip about Miss Tryon. 
Oh, why didn’t we slip away in the first place 
before that poor girl was told of the suspicion 
against her? Even her lips turned white. 
Didn’t you notice how her hands were shaking 
when she answered? ” 


i io When "Jean and I Were Sophomores 

“ Of course it was not pleasant for anybody, 
but she should have had more principle in the 
beginning than to spread such a contemptible 
meddlesome story. She acknowledged that 
she was to blame.” 

“ Well, now, you see, if Jean Dickinson’s 
talk were anything so mischievous as that, I 
should not say a word against condemning 
her. She is a charming little chatterbox, not 
a dangerous gossip and slanderer such as Miss 
Blake confessed herself ” 

Bang! A flaming-faced young person 
scrambled upright from amid sprawling chairs. 

“ I did it! It was I who spread that story. 
Nancy Blake did not even tell me about Miss 
Tryon. She forgot it was in the letter. She 
showed it to me by mistake. That is what she 
meant when she said she was to blame. I did 
it, I say. I told the freshmen about Miss 
Try on’s tragedy. I did it myself.” 

Dry-eyed, Jean collected her scattered prop- 
erty and made for the spiral staircase. 

The two seniors watched her. One of them 
on a sudden impulse ran to call down over the 
railing: “ The Dean is still in her office, Miss 
Dickinson.” 


Ill 


The Tongue is a Fire 

Jean looked up with a quivery little smile 
even while a sob caught her throat. She was 
thinking about me. 

I do not know what those two seniors said to 
each other, but I can guess what they told the 
scholarship committee. Jean says she can 
guess, too. She is going to room with me 
again next year. 


VI 


FLUNK NOTES 

When I wrote out this chapter and sub- 
mitted it as a story to Margaret V. Adams, 
editor-in-chief of our magazine, she returned it 
with a note saying that the conclusion was 
unconvincing. By that she meant that 
she had never heard of such an incident oc- 
curring here during the three years and five 
months since she entered. Even after I had 
told her that the story is based upon fact, she 
raised her eyebrows and replied, “ Facts are 
always unconvincing.” Since she began to 
read the works of a man named Bernard Shaw, 
she often makes remarks that sound idiotic. 
Jean says that Margaret does it in order to 
astonish people. I guess she thinks it is good 
for their health to be distracted, especially after 
dinner. 

The events of my narrative took place on the 
Saturday following the mid-year exams. Fri- 
day afternoon J ean collapsed and went to the 
112 


Flunk Notes 


u 3 


infirmary to recuperate. The next morning I 
carried her some flowers from the girls, but I 
did not stop to give her the news because in 
the first place there was no news, and in the 
second place she did not act as if she cared to 
talk. When I told her that the flunk notes 
were not yet out, she turned her head on the 
pillow and said she thought she would go to 
sleep again. 

Just as I was closing the infirmary door be- 
hind me, Evanna came swaying along the path, 
bareheaded, though the season was mid- winter, 
and she wears her hair low. I waved her back 
with both arms. 

“ You can’t go in, Evanna. She is trying 
to rest. The moment she sees you she would 
commence to worry all over again about your 
exam in math. If you could possibly say 
anything reassuring ” 

“ But I cyan’t, you know.” The leisurely 
drawl matched her indolent gait, though the 
dark eyes in the whimsical face atop of the tall 
figure showed an unaccustomed gleam of 
anxiety. (N. B. This story was written to 
be published, and hence shows my literary 
style.) Evanna continued: “ I did my blind 


i j 4 W^hen Jean and I JV zre Sophomores 

best, but the sight of a problem invariably 
knocks me silly. I feel as if fumbling around 
in the dark, gasping and trying to poke my 
head above water. I reckon I flunked again.” 

“ Oh, Evanna! ” I wailed. “ Are you sure? 
And Jeanie worked so hard to get you through ! 
She thinks it is her fault that you elected math. 
I wish she had not urged you to take it for the 
mental discipline. It hasn’t done you one bit 
of good. You are not a single minute more 
punctual for breakfast, and your accounts 
never balance ” 

Evanna grinned almost cheerfully. 

“ This heah chile don’t keep no ’counts,” 
she confessed. “ And ole geometry wouldn’t 
help nohow anyway. Maybe if I had an otto- 
mobill to tote me down the corridor to break- 
fast ” 

(Evanna frequently employs an ungram- 
matical southern dialect, sometimes in moods 
of levity and at other times to mask despair, 
as at present.) 

“ If only she had not urged you! ” I wailed 
on. “ She believed that the worse you hated 
it, the more good it would do you. Then when 
you fell down on every written test, of course 


Flunk Notes 


“5 


she felt responsible. She has tutored you 
every spare minute. She has done her best to 
help you get through the exam. Oh, Evanna, 
don’t tell me that you have flunked again! ” 

“ Well, then, don’t ask me. I reckon maybe 
I passed or maybe I didn’t. If I never do get 
through math, don’t you bother. This college 
is a right pleasant place to live in till I die. 
Who wants an old diploma? ” 

“ But Jeanie is so anxious! The only ques- 
tion she asked me this morning was about the 
flunk notes. I know it was worry that made 
her collapse this week. She thinks you blame 
her ” 

“ Lawzie ! ” Evanna’s long arm curled 
around my shoulders. “ Just clear out of the 
way, Nancy. I’m going in to pound some 
sense into Jean’s head. Blame her! She 
thinks I blame her because maybe I have 
flunked in math! Lawzie! I always did 
despise old Adam in the Garden piling it 
all on Eve. I reckon I’m no little picka- 
ninny ” 

“ You can’t go in.” I held on to that knob. 
“ She said she was going to take another nap. 
The doctor says that she must not be disturbed 


1 16 When yean and I Were Sophomores 

or over-excited. All that you can do for J ean 
now is to watch when the flunk notes come out, 
and if you happen to receive one in math 
eat it ” 

“ Sure I’ll eat it.” Evanna illustrated, be- 
ing good at pantomime. “ I’ll eat the one you 
get in English, too.” Then she dodged, evi- 
dently expecting retaliatory measures from 
me, as she knows that I work harder in Eng- 
lish than in any other subject. However, I 
was not in the mood for jesting, and also I 
remembered that it was time for me to go to 
the office for the afternoon mail. 

I will now describe the scene in the office 
where the students who distribute the mail for 
twenty cents an hour, counting from the time 
you start to get it until the time you return to 
your room or the library (usually twenty 
minutes after breakfast and twenty after 
luncheon), were waiting in a line along the 
counter. Two seniors before the ranks of 
pigeonholes on the wall sorted the letters with 
a swift weaving to and fro of intelligent 
fingers. (The last phrase is a figure of 
speech, as fingers are not literally intelligent.) 
I slipped in between two large-sized girls and 


Flunk Notes 


117 

watched with anxiety to see if any small white 
envelope was being put into my box. The 
ground for my anxiety lay in the fact that 
Evanna’s room is on my route. Although 
Saturday was rather early for flunk notes from 
Thursday’s examinations, which included math, 
still there is no depending on how late some 
teachers will stay up for the sake of marking 
the papers and writing notes. 

Alas! My misgivings were but too well 
justified. One of those horrible little en- 
velopes shot in upon the pile of mail destined 
for my reluctant hands. Of course it was 
addressed to Evanna. There were two other 
small unstamped envelopes in my pack, but I 
did not feel any worse than usual about them, 
as the girls to whom they were directed are 
shirks. But Evanna’s case was different, 
chiefly because of Jean, for Evanna herself 
is no grind, I assure you. The envelope for 
her seemed slightly larger than the other two, 
and was sealed with wax instead of mucilage. 
Otherwise it was certainly a flunk note. Any- 
body who has been in Miss Manson’s math 
class can recognize her handwriting. I slipped 
it into the front of my shirt-waist. 


n8 W hen "Jean and I Were Sophomores 

Out-of-doors a January thaw had brought 
sudden dazzling sunshine and a velvety wind 
that coaxed all remnants of energy out of 
girlish bodies now relaxing from the week’s 
strain of examinations. Freshly fallen snow 
was already sodden on low-bending ever- 
greens. (These details are specified in order 
to explain why there were pools of water in the 
hollows of the concrete path.) Just as I had 
hopped from one dry spot to another, Emily 
Allan landed on the next one. 

“ Have you got the mail, Nancy? ” she 
called. “ I wondered why Evanna snatched 
her coat and fled in the other direction. She 
said that she was going to the Inn for a section 
of chocolate cake to strengthen her before re- 
ceiving her mail to-day. No, thanks, I do not 
care for any this afternoon myself, if it is just 
the same to you.” 

“ Here’s a real letter with a stamp on it.” 
I shuffled through my pack to find it for her. 
“ Most of the flunks won’t be out till Monday.” 

“ Except Miss Manson’s math.” Emily’s 
voice sounded full of news. “ She sailed this 
morning to study analytics abroad. I went 
down to the station to see her off, and she gave 


Flunk Notes 


119 


me a big envelope full of notes to drop at the 
office upon my return to the college. I call 
that the irony of fate.” 

“ How? ” 

“ Why, didn’t you know? ” Her eyebrows 
flew up. “ Haven’t you heard? Miss Man- 
son sat up all night to finish the examination 
papers before she left to catch the early train. 
She was in such a rush that she forgot the gas- 
burner. A curtain blew into the flame and 
set her desk on fire. Somebody in the corri- 
dor smelled the smoke and ran for an ex- 
tinguisher before it spread much.” 

“ But where is the irony? ” 

“ Oh — oh, yes, I must not omit the point. 
Isn’t that careless of me! You see, the irony 
consists of the fact that all her class records 
were burned up, while the notes in her bag 
ready to be mailed were saved, and I mailed 
them. Now, if only the flunk notes had been 
burned too, and Miss Manson this minute sail- 
ing away to England ” 

“ I see,” I said, and reached into my blouse 
to feel of Evanna’s flunk note. 

Just then Emily cried: “ Look out! Some 
of your mail has fallen into a puddle.” 


1 20 When Jean and I W ire Sophomores 

There lay that dreadful little unstamped 
envelope floating on the water. I lifted my 
foot. 

“ Don’t step on it! ” exclaimed Emily. So 
I had to pick it up. 

“ It looks like a flunk note,” she said. 

“ Emily,” I said, “ if the class records and 
examination papers are burned up, the only 
way to know which pupils passed in math is to 
find out who received flunk notes.” 

“ I hated to post them,” she said. 

I glanced down at the wet envelope in my 
hand. The address was blurred and half 
washed off. I showed it to Emily. 

“ Can you read the name on this note? ” 

“ No ! ” She was horrified all right. “ Not 
a single letter ! Can’t you remember ? Didn’t 
you notice the address when you sorted it? ” 

I answered that maybe I could remember. 
Then I hurried on to distribute the packet of 
mail. 

The corridors on my route seemed mysteri- 
ously deserted for that first hour of the after- 
noon, when usually the students loiter for 
sociable chats on their way from luncheon. 
Nobody was lingering in doorways or leaning 


Flunk Notes 


121 


against door- jambs to finish discussions begun 
at the table. An invisible stir of anxiety 
seemed to eddy before me as I moved onward. 
Footsteps retreated at my approach, heads 
lifted nervously at my entrance, eyes sought 
my outstretched hand with an expression of 
apprehension that softened to relief at sight of 
the size of the envelopes extended. Even those 
two shirks seemed glad that I did not have 
more than one note apiece for each. 

By and by I began to get near Evanna’s 
room. 

“Hey, Nancy Blake !” Sara dashed past 
me. “ Evanna sent me for her skates. She 
declares that she intends to skate all the after- 
noon, or else swim. It depends on the 
weather. She told me not to bother to bring 
her the flunk note ” 

“ What ! ” I nearly choked. “ How does 
she know ” 

“ She says that she always gets a flunk note 
in math. Of course it is in this afternoon’s 
mail, because Emily posted Miss Manson’s 
flunks just before luncheon. Poor old Evanna! 
She simply can’t get math into her head. 
Even Jean’s tutoring won’t carry her through. 


1 22 When "Jean and I Were Sophomores 

At least, that is how Evanna feels, though she 
is not dead sure yet. She says that in a math 
exam she is not sure of her multix>lication 
tables. So of course it is pretty certain 
she has flunked this time. Where is the 
note? ” 

I just looked at Sara, and walked straight 
past Evanna’s door. 

“ Hooray! ” she shouted. “ Hooray! You 
haven’t any mail at all for Evanna. Not one 
single dear little unstamped envelope from 
Miss Manson! Oh, give me somebody’s hat 
to throw into the pleasant air. Hooray ! 
Don’t stop me. I’m running to watch her 
face when she hears the miraculous tidings. 
Hooray! No flunk note in math for Evanna 
at last! Hooray for her diploma! ” 

After walking on for six or seven steps, I 
whirled around and ran down-stairs. Evanna 
was rushing along the first floor corridor. She 
swooped upon me. 

“ Nancy, blessed child! Nancy, you old 
darling! Let’s scamper to the infirmary this 
instant to tell Jeanie. No flunk note in math 
for me this time! No flunk in math! I 
reckon that Jeanie won’t need any medicine 


Flunk Notes 


12 3 


this evening! She is sure the best tutor in 
this whole collegeful. No flunk in math! ” 

I tried to speak, but she was hugging me so 
tight that my mouth was full of embroidery. 

“ Oho-ho-ho! I shall write a geometry in 
free verse. I’ll open with the idiotic axioms. 
Oh, Nancy, little Nancy, aren’t you glad that 
Jeanie can stop worrying? Aren’t you glad 
you haven’t any mail for me to-day? ” 

For a moment I stopped wriggling. Her 
arms felt soft and strong around me. I wanted 
to lie quiet and let everybody be happy. Jean 
would never know about the note. Maybe 
Miss Manson would have forgotten some of 
the names before she could receive word of the 
fire. Her memory must be poor anyhow, or 
she would have remembered to turn off the 
gas-jet. 

“ I reckon Jean will be surprised,” sang 
Evanna. 

“ I am afraid she won’t,” I said and pushed 
myself free so that I could hunt for that note 
from Miss Manson. “ I never said I didn’t 
have it.” 

Evanna looked stunned for a moment be- 
fore she managed to grin. 


124 When "Jean and I Were Sophomores 

“ This is so sudden,” she murmured. 
“ G-girls, this is so sudden and st-strange. 
S-such a novelty to me! ” 

She opened it with a hairpin. After a while 
I stole a glimpse of her sidewise. Her eyes 
were rounded out into astonished circles, and 
her dumbfounded mouth was begimiing to 
twinkle uj)ward at the corners. 

I clutched her arm. She lifted her head to 
grin at me — a real grin this time. I saw her 
press that awful note to her lips. 

“Precious!” she whispered. “Precious 
little darling, come to mamma for a kiss. 
There, there, mamma’s only pet!” 

Of course I snatched. Evanna watched me 
blissfully. 

“ Lucky that my heart is stout and husky! ” 
she remarked. “ Funny old girl, Miss Man- 
son is! Maybe she had packed up her other 
envelopes, and so had to use that one for a 
note of congratulation. Funny old unex- 
pected kind of girl ! ” 

“A note of congratulation!” I gasped. 
“ A note of congratulation in math for 
Evanna! For Evanna! Then you did not 
flunk after all! ” 


Flunk Notes 


125 

“ I reckon Jean will be surprised,” chanted 
Evanna. “ Let’s rush.” 

We rushed. 

And this is a true story — whatever Margaret 
V. Adams may think. 


VII 


everybody's different 

Having read in a book about fiction that 
amateur writers are inclined to narrate events 
in the first person, I have decided to employ 
now the form used by professional authors. 
The other reason why I have adopted this style 
is because I do not come into the story myself, 
and part of it, from the exigencies of the case, 
I am obliged to make up, especially the con- 
versations, which took place when I was not 
present. But the girls have told me most 
of it. 

The scene opens in the double occupied by 
Luella Starr and Hilda Deane. 

“ I know exactly what you need,” said 
Luella. 

Hilda did not answer. Closing her Livy 
with a dissatisfied frown over the final enig- 
matic sentence, she opened her algebra in 
nervous haste and propped it beneath the lamp. 

126 


12 7 


Everybody's Different 

Before picking up her pencil she brushed one 
hand wearily across her forehead and shut her 
eyes a moment. 

“ I know exactly how you feel,” said Luella, 
moving with decisive step from the door of her 
bedroom across the study. “You feel as if 
your head were stuffed with dry cork. What 
you need is fresh air.” And she threw both 
windows wide open. 

At the sudden bang of the sash Hilda 
jumped so that her glasses fell off. 

“ What you need,” continued Luella, “ is a 
nose with a sizeable bridge to it, similar to the 
Venus of Milo’s.” She pinched her own re- 
flectively, aware of resembling that statue in 
more ways than one. 

Hilda, shivering in the cold air, glanced 
vaguely around in search of a wrap, but seeing 
none within reach of her arm, however long 
(as well as thin), she hunched her narrow 
shoulders in an instinctive endeavor to com- 
pact all exposed surfaces as much as possible, 
and bent lower over her paper, cheek on hand. 

“ What you need,” went on her warm- 
blooded roommate, “is an improved circula- 
tion and better digestion. Then you would 


128 When yean and I W zre Sophomores 

not worry so over your work. What you need 
most of all is more recreation. When we 
entered college the doctor told us that we must 
never allow ourselves to feel driven by our 
studies. It is we who are to do the driving, 
handling the reins of our tasks, using a reason- 
able amount of time for each, and not worrying 
if we fail to cover the specified ground in a 
subject. She said we must master our work 
instead of permitting our work to master us. 
She said never to get into such a rush that we 
omit exercise or rest or recreation. That is 
what she said. I agree with her.” 

Hilda’s bent brown head quivered restively, 
and her two thumbs slid upward from the 
angle of her jaw to her ears. Luella raised 
her voice. 

“ I know exactly what you need. You need 
more recreation. You could study all the 
better for it afterward.” 

Hilda drew in a sudden breath. “ There 
isn’t any afterward,” she said. “ There is only 
now. To-morrow X have four classes in a row, 
and the secretary said the faculty considers 
that too much of a strain, but she was willing 
to let me try it this semester. She is watch- 


Everybody's Different 129 

ing my record, and I have two written tests 
coming to-morrow, and I’ve got to study every 
minute till ten o’clock ” 

“ You’re awfully foolish. The best thing 
you could do would be to spend the whole even- 
ing in relaxation and fun so that you could get 
up early, all bright and fresh for study. I 
can accomplish three times as much before 
breakfast as I can after dinner. Why can’t 
you do the same? ” 

“ Because I’m different from you,” said 
Hilda, and sneezed violently. 

Luella regarded her with a disapproving 
air. “ I am not one bit chilly,” she com- 
mented without offering to close the windows. 
“ You’re a regular hothouse plant. You cer- 
tainly need to be taken in hand by somebody 
who knows what is best for you. Rooming 
with me this year will help you a lot.” 

Hilda lifted her face quickly with an expres- 
sion of such ingenuous dismay that Luella first 
blinked and then laughed a surprised little 
puzzled laugh in the top of her throat. 

“What a funny girl you are!” she ex- 
claimed. “ Anybody might think you were 
afraid of me and of being improved.” 


130 W hen yean and I W zre Sophomores 

“ Oh, no!” protested Hilda too hurriedly. 
“ Of course I am not afraid of you. You’re 
right good to me, I know you are.” But her 
voice faltered at the end of the sentence, and 
her glance shifted to the open windows and 
back again with suspicious swiftness. “ I’m 
mighty lucky — I know I am — to room with a 
friend who takes so much trouble about me. 
You — you mustn’t think I don’t appreciate it.” 

The click of her teeth as she shivered was 
drowned in a rat-tat-tat of energetic knuckles 
on the lintel. 

“ Hulloa, everybody!” Jean’s black eyes 
twinkled cautiously around the edge of the 
door. “ Your engaged sign blew down.” 
She slid farther into the room, her fingers re- 
spectfully extending the scribbled card as a 
proof of her statement. 

“ Blew down? ” ejaculated Luella incredu- 
lously. “ But there is not a speck of wind to- 
night, even outdoors. What makes you think 
it blew down? ” 

“Because I blew it. Whoo!” Jean’s 
chest was heaving in corroboration. “ It took 
all the breath I had. You see,” she explained, 
beaming with apparent impartiality from the 


Eve?ybody's Different 131 

blooming young Juno in front of her to the 
huddled figure beneath the lamp, “ it is against 
my principles to knock over an engaged sign. 
And yet it was absolutely necessary for me to 
enter.” 

“Why?” demanded Luella, while Hilda 
with a worried sigh again grasped her pencil 
and adjusted her paper of problems. 

The black eyes sent a glance traveling 
rapidly around the room. 

“ You run along to the library, Luella,” she 
said. “ That book on Shelley is waiting at the 
desk for you. I want to speak to Hilda. 
Good-bye. Hang up this sign, please, as you 
go out.” 

The instant the door had closed Jean walked 
over and shut both windows, then turned on 
more heat, then stood for a moment, hesitant. 

“ I knew she was trampling on you. That’s 
why I came. What you need, Hilda,” she 
began, only to be interrupted by an out-thrust 
protesting hand and a nervous cry: “Don’t 
speak to me. Don’t speak to me. I have four 
classes in a row to-morrow, and not a thing 
prepared. I can’t spare a minute. Don’t 
speak to me.” 


132 When Jean and I W ire Sophomores 

After a cogitating pause, “ Oh, all right,” 
murmured Jean and vanished into the corridor, 
where she gave herself the consolation of a 
muttered, “ What you need is a little gump- 
tion, Hilda Deane,” before moving on about 
her own business for the evening. 

One hour spun past; another. Nine o’clock. 
Hilda changed her position, sighed, put on her 
glasses again. If only that roommate of hers 
would stay away till the final resonant clang 
of the ten o’clock gong, she might really ac- 
complish something. 

A sudden fear that the engaged sign might 
have been dislodged from its place on the door 
sent her in unreasoning hurry to make sure 
that it still protected her privacy. 

She opened the door, took one step back- 
ward, stood speechless. Luella was there. 
To Hilda’s appalled eyes she seemed to tower 
like a giantess in the alleyway, one hand 
clutching after the withdrawn knob, the other 
grasping a sheaf of chrysanthemums. Behind 
her clustered a procession of girls. To Hilda 
they appeared an indefinite mob without 
number. 

" I told you that you needed recreation,” 


Everybody s Different 133 

said Luella. “ So I’ve been collecting a sur- 
prise party for you. You’ve had plenty of 
time to study. Now for a little fun and some 
good nourishing stuff to strengthen you for to- 
morrow! You never do eat enough to keep 
you in condition. That is one reason why your 
work is such a struggle for you. Believe me. 
I know exactly what you need. Come on, 
girls.” 

And the girls came on. After the first 
shock, Hilda pulled herself together and man- 
aged to be polite. Closing her hooks she 
shoved them aside to make a place for the gas 
stove which Luella attached to the tap. 

“ Guess what, Hilda,” she chattered on. 
“ Something nourishing. Yes, sir! My favor- 
ite dish! It will do you a lot of good after 
all that monotonous steak you’ve been consum- 
ing at meals. Look! See! Fried oysters! 
Oysters fried in real olive oil! Um-m! ” 

Hilda’s smile became fixed, for fried food 
often knocked her out completely. She 
winked two or three times and smiled harder 
in order to cover her panic-smitten silence. 

“And Ruth will do her famous rarebit, 
while Margaret mixes the chocolate. Whipped 


134 When Jean and I W ire Sophomores 

cream and vanilla! Yes, sir! I found the 
biggest bargain at the grocery. Vanilla at ten 
cents a bottle ! ” 

Hilda’s lips felt quite stiff and stretched be- 
neath their pleasant expression. Cheap vanilla 
was poison to her. 

“ And fruit-cake from my own aunt,” went 
on Luella in exultant benevolence. “ And dill 
pickles dripping with juice. And fudge — 
hot, soft delicious fudge with nuts in it! It’s 
going to be the spread of the year.” 

Anxiously Hilda looked around the crowded 
room in search of Jean. If only Jean were 
there to forbid her to eat such awful things, it 
might not seem so ungracious to decline to 
share the fun so thoughtfully provided. 

“ It is your party,” declared Luella 
graciously. “ We are doing it all for you, so 
that you will feel fresh and fine for your 
written tests to-morrow. I told the girls how 
discouraged and blue you were to-night, and 
how you needed to be cheered and nourished. 
So we decided to give you a party. Come, 
open your mouth. Here is the first and 
biggest and crispest oyster. Swallow it 
quick!” 


Everybody's Different 135 

Embarrassed by the expectancy of laughing 
faces all around her, Hilda swallowed it quick. 
When once it was down, an instantaneous 
realization that the mischief was done and her 
night’s rest surely sacrificed to that horrible 
oyster converted her from shrinking caution to 
the gayety of despair. Now it made no dif- 
ference what stuff she might eat, for she was 
condemned to endless hours of sleeplessness 
anyhow. Not until the juiciest pickle was ex- 
tended enticingly toward her did she flinch 
from consent. 

“ I don’t dare,” she apologized. “ There 
was so much cream on my chocolate, and this 
is vinegar. It — it looks ” — she faltered' an 
instant between her repugnance to the deadly 
green of the dainty and her wish not to dash 
her roommate’s anticipation of the pleasure 
about to be bestowed, “ it looks — g-good.” 

“ It is good.” Luella took a corroborating 
mouthful. “ Acids are fine for your system. 
They are exactly what you need to foster your 
appetite. Oh, if only you would follow my 
advice about everything, you would become the 
strongest, healthiest girl in college. Look at 
me. I eat anything, and I am perfectly well. 


136 When yean and I Were Sophomores 

Why, just see how much better you look al- 
ready. See her, girls! Her eyes are brighter, 
her cheeks are pink, her manner is livelier. 
Even her circulation is improved, I know. 
Oh, you just give me time. I will cure you 
of those morbid notions of yours about diet 
and draughts and weak hearts and things. 
Your heart is as good as anybody’s. It is all 
nonsense to think you can’t run up-stairs as 
fast as I do. You don’t understand the first 
thing about taking proper care of yourself. I 
know exactly what you need.” 

“ The fudge is done,” announced the cook 
pro tern. And Hilda fulfilled the sum of her 
digestive iniquities by eating hot fudge 
crammed with butternut meats. 

That night retribution stalked into the 
double room, and passing by the rosy and 
round-armed young person who lay fast 
asleep on one bed, pounced upon the pale cul- 
prit opposite. In the morning Hilda arose, 
a miserable creature, and sat down to her 
books. 

When Luella, roused from cheerful dreams 
by the gong, began her capable day, she ac- 
companied her business of dressing by a dribble 


Everybody s Different 137 

of small talk that babbled and tinkled madden- 
ingly around Hilda’s scattering thoughts. 

“ Please, if you only would keep still! I’ve 
read this page four times without getting any 
sense. The written test comes right after 
breakfast.” 

Luella moved nearer, alertly curious instead 
of wounded by the impatient tone, as Hilda 
herself would have been. 

“ What’s the matter? ” she inquired. “ Talk- 
ing does not bother me. I never saw you so 
white. The circles beneath your eyes are so 
dark that maybe you forgot to wash your 
face. Don’t you feel well? It is silly to be 
sick.” 

“ Headache.” Hilda brushed her hand 
across her brow, and shook her head with a 
rapid zigzag motion as if to free it from an 
encumbering veil. “ A black cloud comes 
creeping up over the light — and then it comes 
creeping up again.” She closed her eyes a 
moment, opening them just in time to avoid a 
whole-hearted deluge from Luella’s water 
pitcher. 

“ Oh, stop ! I don’t intend to faint. I’ve 
got four classes this morning, and the secretary 


138 When yean and I W zre Sophomores 

is watching my record. She warned me. If 
it weren’t for my head! ” 

“ Oh! ” Luella uttered a squeal of relief over 
a sudden idea. “ How stupid I am to forget 
all about my headache powders! They are 
exactly what you need. They always cure me 
like a shot. At least they cured me once, and 
that was the only time I ever had a headache 
that hurt. I will hunt up the box this instant. 
Here it is.” 

“ No, no,” protested Hilda. “ I don’t dare. 
I’m afraid of patent medicines. Some of the 
drugs are dangerous. The only way to cure 
my headaches is to go to bed. That is what I 
shall do the moment I get through the last 
class. If I can hold out that long,” she added, 
her lips pale. 

“How utterly foolish!” Luella’s efficient 
hands twitched with impatience. “ You are 
perfectly idiotic to refuse to try one dose of a 
harmless powder that is sure to save you hours 
of suffering. I have tested the remedy, 
haven’t I? Don’t I know it is good to cure 
headache? Haven’t I proved it myself? See 
how strong and well I am! I know what 
I am talking about, believe me. Come, 


Everybody s Different 139 

Hilda, don’t be silly. It is for your own 
good.” 

“ I don’t dare,” said Hilda, with the wraith 
of a smile to soften her obduracy. “ I am 
afraid of drugs. I am different from you.” 

“ But if you would take my advice,” per- 
sisted Luella, only to be interrupted by the 
clanging of the gong for breakfast. “ Come 
along, Hilda,” she called from the doorway. 

“ I don’t want any breakfast,” answered 
Hilda, still at her desk. Luella swung sharply 
around. 

“ Don’t be so silly. The worst thing any- 
body can do is to skip a meal. Look at me. 
I never skipped a meal.” 

“ I can’t eat,” groaned Hilda. “ Oh, 
Luella, please run along and leave me alone 
and bring me a glass of warm milk when you 
are through. I couldn’t choke down another 
morsel. Please, Luella.” 

For one long dubious moment Luella stood 
hesitating. Then with peculiar suddenness, as 
if at a swift new thought, her frown softened. 
A note of eagerness sounded in her voice as 
she exclaimed, “ All right. I’ll bring it,” and 
disappeared. 


140 When "Jean a?id I Were Sophomores 

In less than twenty minutes she was back 
again, a glass of milk borne carefully in one 
hand, while in her steady brown eyes was a 
curious gleam of watchfulness. 

“ Drink it while it is warm, Hilda. It is 
exactly what you need. All, that’s right. 
Doesn’t it taste delicious? ” 

Hilda nodded an abstracted assent, her eyes 
still on her note-book as she spoke. “ YeSj 
but sort of queer. It reminds me of a drug 
store or something.” 

“ Maybe the cow used to belong to a drug- 
gist,” laughed Luella, continuing to keep 
an intent gaze upon her roommate. “ The ef- 
fect of environment, you know. Perhaps 
he fed her herbs or something.” She 
paused a moment, then asked with a note 
of expectancy in her clear voice: “Now, 
Hilda, how do you feel? Is your headache 
cured? ” 

For answer, Hilda crumpled down into 
a heap, her hand clutching toward her 
heart. 

The next morning Jean, diving from the in- 
firmary door in sudden mindfulness of an 
exigent recitation, plunged head on against a 


Everybody's Different 141 

girl who stood near a clump of concealing ever- 
greens, her eyes lifted to the window of Hilda’s 
sick room. 

44 1 beg your pardon. Oh, it’s you, Luella. 
Are you going to see Hilda again? Because 
you can’t. She’s asleep ” 

“ I did it,” said Luella. 

44 Did what?” Jean stared, noting the 
other’s haggard look. 44 You mean you did 
already call? Well, I guess everybody knows 
that. You haunt this path. It isn’t neces- 
sary, really, Luella. She is getting along all 
right. She will pull through, though it cer- 
tainly was a close shave. Queer how it hap- 
pened ! ” 

44 1 did it,” repeated Luella. Her lips felt 
stiff. 

44 You did it! ” Jean stared in frank amaze- 
ment while rapidly disentangling her thoughts. 
44 Oh, I see. You mean that you made her eat 
all that indigestible stuff last night. Well, 
you’re mistaken about that being the cause. 
It wasn’t indigestion. It was her heart. 
Queer how it happened. She never had such 
an attack before, though she has always been 
rather delicate. Maybe she has been working 


142 When "Jean and I W zre Sophomores 

too hard lately. Perhaps it will be a lesson to 
her.” 

“ I did it.” Luella’s capable hands hung 
straight at her sides, clenching and unclench- 
ing. “ I put a headache powder into that 
glass of milk. The doctor says it contained 
a dangerous drug. If Hilda had died ” — the 
speaker shut her jaws tight to steady her chin, 
“ if she had died ” 

“ Well, she didn’t,” snapped Jean, and 
scowled because her eyes smarted. 

“ I meant to help her,” said Luella. “ When 
I had a headache once that powder cured me. 
I thought that it would cure her. So I put it 
in her milk. I did not know that she was dif- 
ferent from me.” 

Jean groaned. 

“ I meant to help her.” Luella was gazing 
upward again at the curtained window. “ I 
wanted her to do as I did in everything. I 
never stopped to think that she was different. 
She’s the dearest ” her voice caught. 

Jean hastily fumbled for her handkerchief. 

“ I have caught cold, too,” she explained. 
“ Horrid weather! ” 

“ When she is well again,” said Luella, “ I 


Everybody s Different 143 

shall never, never, never for an instant forget 
that she is different. Everybody’s different.” 

Before Jean’s dazzled imagination stretched 
a year-long vista of warmth and quiet and 
simple fare and endless studious hours undis- 
turbed for gentle Hilda. J oyously she rubbed 
one round cheek against Luella’s arm, and 
dropped an enthusiastic kiss on the neck that 
was like the Venus of Milo’s. 

“ I guess Hilda will be glad you did do it,” 
she said. 


VIII 


SEMESTER BILLS 

March is the worst month in the year, be- 
cause everybody is tired out, and breakfast 
does not taste very good, and the roads are 
too muddy for walking unless a girl has rubber 
boots. March this year was even worse than 
usual for me, as the reader will learn in the 
narrative now to be presented. The story will 
sound less egotistical, and also be less em- 
barrassing for me (who am the only one to be 
blamed) to refer to myself by name instead of 
by pronoun. 

In the first place, Nancy was not paying 
attention to the recitation. With her book 
open before her, she sat gazing absently 
through the window at a patch of blue sky 
across which clouds were racing helter-skelter 
above the tossing tips of evergreen trees. 
Partly she was not thinking of anything, and 
144 


Semester Bills 


H5 


partly she was worrying about the future. 
She had promised to tutor a freshman during 
the spring vacation, and she did not feel like 
it. In fact, quite the reverse. She was al- 
most too tired to breathe, let alone teach a girl 
who was too lazy to do her own studying. 
Nancy’s shoulders drooped; the corners of her 
mouth curved downward; her head hung to- 
ward one side as if too heavy to balance itself 
erect on her neck. Indeed, she was awfully 
tired. 

“ Miss Blake, will you comment on the 
verb? ” 

At the sound of her name, Nancy jumped 
like a guilty rabbit, and glanced hastily at the 
page before her. 

“Line twenty — quick!” whispered the girl 
next to her. “Make a bluff at it. Verb is 
licet. Keep talking till the bell rings if you 
want to save my life.” 

Nancy rubbed her hand across her eyes and 
blinked at the verse again. The angular black 
type seemed to be swimming up and down in 
the dizziest way. There was no use trying to 
read it. She could not remember anything 
about licet even if she could find it. 


146 When "Jean and I Were Sophomores 

“ I can’t comment,” she said, wondering 
dimly why she did not care more about flunk- 
ing. Perhaps it was because this was the last 
hour before the spring vacation began. Every- 
body was tired. At any other time she would 
have felt prickly all over to be stared at in such 
a surprised, disapproving way by a teacher. 
It was curious that she did not care. 

The professor’s expression merged surprise 
into resignation as she surveyed the class in 
search of the next victim. The prospect was 
not encouraging. The air seemed to vibrate 
with restlessness. Here a girl was putting the 
cap on her fountain-pen; there another was 
snapping an elastic around her sheaf of notes. 
Several were closing their books, and those in 
outdoor costume were commencing to pat their 
hair and pin their hats in disconcerting eager- 
ness to escape from scholarly ministrations. 

From the seat next to Nancy Professor Ray 
caught in two bright eyes a gleam that she in- 
terpreted as enthusiasm, though in fact it was 
pure anxiety. 

“ Miss Dickinson,” she spoke briskly in re- 
viving approbation, “ will you go on with the 
translation? ” 


Semester Bills 


H7 


The bright eyes gave a sudden despair- 
ing wink, then popped very wide open in- 
deed. 

“ Certainly, Professor Ray, but first may I 
ask you ” J ean cleared her throat and re- 

tired behind her handkerchief to cough while 
thinking up a question. “ May I ask you if 
the aurea mediocritas — the golden mean — 
mentioned in the ode applies even in the case 
of good qualities? For instance, self-reliance 
is a good quality if kept moderate, don’t you 
know. One of my friends is so terribly self- 
reliant that she has a horror of accepting any 
favor from anybody, though she is always do- 
ing kind things for others. Is she not making 
a mistake in refusing to adopt the golden 
mean — aurea mediocritas, as Horace phrases 
it — in her conduct of life? Is not her pride 
only self-reliance carried to an extreme? ” 

“ Precisely. To a pernicious extreme.” 
The professor was beaming upon the class with 
her customary manner of bright interest in the 
idea under discussion. As the sentences of 
her discourse flowed smoothly on, Miss Dick- 
inson sat with rapt gaze, apparently absorbing 
each word as it took shape. Being a talented 


148 When yean and I W ire Sophomores 

young person, however, she was able to accom- 
plish more than one act at a time. While her 
ears seemed to listen, her fingers deposited 
upon Nancy’s open book a hastily scrawled 
picture of a girl in profile, a feather waving in 
her hat, her eyelids haughtily lowered, her 
chin lifted at a supercilious pose, her elbows 
bent close to her sides with the forearms stiffly 
upholding two hands that swung forward 
empty of everything except an air of elegant 
leisure. 

“ That’s you,” she whispered. “ It looks 
just like a drawing in my old Kate Greenaway 
painting-book. No aurea mediocritas about 
you! That’s the proud girl. Oh, I wish the 
bell would ring before she asks me again to 
translate! There! Listen! It is beginning. 
Can’t she hear it? Everybody is in a hurry 
to go.” 

Nancy was trying to pay attention to the 
impromptu lecture, but it was hard to do this 
with a head that felt light and corky, especially 
as all the girls were fidgeting and hoping some- 
body would tell Professor Ray that the bell 
had rung the end of the hour. Turning one 
shoulder toward Jean, she moved as far toward 


Semester Bills 


H9 

the other side of her seat as possible in order 
to discourage such discourteous whispering. 
However, she was left undisturbed only half 
a minute. 

A folded paper was slipped against her palm 
by some one in the row of seats behind her. 
She read the message with an involuntary 
frown of instinctive refusal: “Nancy Blake, 
please tell her that the hour is up. The bell 
didn’t ring in here. We want to catch the 
eleven-fifty-five train. She won’t mind an in- 
terruption from such a star as you.” 

Nancy lifted her head to listen. Yes, the 
corridor outside the closed door was already 
humming with movement and voices. The 
girls would miss their train if she hesitated 
over this small request merely because she 
hated to remind Professor Ray of the flight of 
time. It was pure selfishness that inspired a 
dread of appearing to work with one eye on 
the clock. No matter if the faculty were al- 
ways talking about the unscholarliness of that 
habit ! The girls had asked her to do this little 
favor for them. 

She waited a moment to seize a pause in the 
lecture. “ Professor Ray, will you pardon me 


150 When yean and I Were Sophomores 

for saying that the hour was over five minutes 
ago? This bell failed to ring.” 

The older woman shut her book in contrite 
haste and dismissed the class at once. Those 
students who were wearing hats stood not upon 
the order of their going, but sidled rapidly be- 
tween the rows of seats and vanished with 
anxious speed. Nancy lingered to gather up 
her belongings. She paused beside the win- 
dow to glance wearily out upon the pale green 
of the lawn below. If only she had time, it 
might be delicious to lie down somewhere in 
the sunshine. The soaked turf looked soft and 
spongy and comfortable for aching bones. 
She could rest her head on that pillow of snow 
in the corner by the gymnasium. That would 
feel cool and pleasant — and perhaps she could 
eat a handful of the cleanest crystals. It 
would taste so good in her hot throat! 

“ Are you tired, Miss Blake? ” The pro- 
fessor had halted to speak to her. “ It seems 
to me that you are rather pale this morning. 
By the way, would you care to do a little work 
for the department during the vacation? 
Those new terra cottas must be labeled and 
catalogued, and I will need a number of 


Semester Bills 


151 

photographic slides prepared for my April 
lectures. If you would like to undertake it, 
of course the remuneration will be at the usual 
rates. You are always most satisfactory 

“Oh, thank you!” Nancy’s smile was 
rather wavering than otherwise, for she had 
enough tutoring in prospect to absorb every 
spare hour; and the rate of pay for tutoring 
was five times that for ordinary labor such as 

was now proposed. “ If I may ” she 

hesitated at a loss for the courteous framing 
of her reasons to decline the commission. 

“ That will be all right then.” Professor 
Ray’s mind was so strong that it tended to in- 
terpret others according to its own desires. 
“ I will leave instructions for you in the mes- 
senger room before I go away from college. 
Indeed, you are quite an indispensable mem- 
ber of my corps.” She beamed upon the girl 
in the serene conviction that she was aiding a 
deserving student to help herself, and added 
graciously, “You will be conferring a great 
favor upon the department as well as upon 
me personally.” 

This settled it. As Jean was in the custom 
of saying, Nancy never could resist the chance 


1 52 When yean and I Were Sophomores 

to do anybody a favor. That was the essence 
of her pride: always to give, never to receive. 
Her tired eyes followed the professor, reced- 
ing with a step vigorous in its spring and 
sway. It must be pleasant to feel as brisk 
as that looked, but to a girl at the limit of her 
physical strength the superfluous energy of the 
gait was vaguely irritating. Nancy frowned 
and half sighed. A whole sigh would have de- 
manded too much of an effort in filling her 
lungs and lifting her shoulders. It seemed as 
if the first signal of the beginning of vacation 
had caused her will to relax its grasp of the 
weary body. She was feeling more languid 
with the passing of each minute. 

Slowly she dragged herself through the 
endless corridor toward the vestibule, alive 
with hatted and coated figures on travel 
bent. 

“ There’s Nancy now. Oh, Nancy Blake! ” 
called somebody, “ I was just telling Jean not 
to let you forget my Sunday-school class. At 
three o’clock sharp, remember.” 

“And my palms,” broke in another; 
“ sponge the leaves as soon as you can, and 
don’t neglect to water them every day. I’ve 


Semester Bills 


l 5 3 

been so rushed that they are dry as bones. 
You love to do things for people.” 

“ Nancy, the very person I wanted! Run 
over some afternoon to the Poor House, and 
take this doll to that child whom we noticed 
on our social science visit. Dress it first, if 
you want to awfully. It’ll help pass the time.” 

“ Miss Blake, I’ve been hunting for you high 
and low. Here is a model letter for you to 
copy before next week. Send one to each of 
the names on this list. Our chairman says that 
you offered to assist with the extra work, and 
the rest of the committee are all too busy. 
Twenty copies will do. Thank you ever so 
much.” 

“Oh, Nancy! Wait a minute. I am al- 
most standing on my head. The proof for the 
next number of the magazine hasn’t come yet, 
and I’ve got to catch this train. Couldn’t you 
correct it when it arrives, and mail it to the 
printer? I’ll bless you to the end of my life. 
You lucky girl ! Ten whole days with nothing 
to do! ” 

Ten whole days with nothing to do ! Nancy 
nodded her head restlessly in unwitting en- 
deavor to shake the buzzing from her ears. 


154 When “Jean and I Were Sophomores 

The girls were still calling back good-byes. 
They seemed mistily far away. She tried to 
smile in response, but her muscles barely flick- 
ered into an uncertain curve. She stared to- 
ward the oblong of brightness where the front 
doors swung open. It was very queer — the 
way a dark cloud kept creeping up over the 
light and then sinking to the floor when she 
winked hard. Her knees felt queer too — sort 
of wobbly. She looked around for some place 
quite near that would do to sit down on. 

“ Hi, proud girl! ” It was Jean, bubbling 
over with vitality. She had a nice strong arm, 
too, which gave a sensation of perfect bliss 
when steadying a person’s back. It was al- 
most easy now to walk over to that window 
ledge and sit down. Nancy was conscious 
dimly of an immense admiration deep down — 
so wearisomely deep down that instead of 
dragging it to the surface of expression she 
merely gazed up at her friend stupidly. 

“ Going to be sick, are you? ” Jean had an 
energetic voice and clipped off each word 
neatly as if it were no trouble at all. “ Well, 
that’s what comes of being so horribly proud 
and stubborn. You’re always doing things 


Semester Bills 


l 55 


for other people, and you won’t let anybody do 
a single solitary thing for you. You shoulder 
all the extra work within reach, and sit up 
nights looking for more. No wonder you’re 
going to be sick, the first chance you get. If 
was thoughtful of you anyhow to wait till vaca- 
tion.” 

Nancy regarded her lifelessly. “ I couldn’t 
spare the time,” she said. 

Jean’s dark eyebrows met in a quick im- 
patient frown. “ Oh, why didn’t I insist upon 
taking you to New York for a change? ” she 
groaned. “ That’s exactly what you need. 
Even I am tired.” She lifted her fingers to 
pinch the firm flesh of her own blooming cheek. 
“ Look at that, will you? And there you are 
without an ounce of superfluous fat or nerve 
or blood. You’re thin as a toothifick and pale 
as wax. But you won’t accept a scholarship 
loan, and you won’t let your mother send you 
spending money, and you won’t give up wear- 
ing yourself out for others, and you won’t go 
with me to New York.” 

“ I can’t afford it,” said Nancy. 

“Why?” sputtered Jean stormily. “Be- 
cause you’re too proud to give anybody the 


156 When Jean and I W zre Sophomores 

pleasure of helping you, that’s why. You’ve 
been killing yourself with tutoring all the year 
so that you may earn enough to pay the 
semester bill in June, although Prexie himself 
offered a loan from the college. I don’t be- 
lieve in all your life you ever borrowed even a 
postage stamp. You have no right to be so 
senselessly independent. You have no right 
to treat yourself like a slave. You’re worse 
than Nero. You do it to gratify your pride, 
your cruel pride. You act as if the rest of us 
were your enemies. You ruin our characters. 
You refuse to aid us in cultivating unselfish- 
ness. You monopolize all the virtues your 
own self. You behave as if you were the only 
person in the world.” 

“ What? ” Nancy brushed one hand across 
her forehead. “ I wish you wouldn’t.” A 
peevish note crept into the usually calm voice. 
“ I can’t think very well just now, but I have 
a right to do as I choose. It is nobody else’s 
business. It doesn’t hurt you.” 

“ It doesn’t! ” Jean’s sniff of contempt for 
such reasoning was almost a snort. “ It’s none 
of my business, isn’t it? You believe that any 
* man liveth to himself ’ alone, do you? Well* 


Semester Bills 


157 


some day you’ll find yourself mighty far mis- 
taken. Good-morning. That’s all. None of 
my business? Ho!” She turned to march 
haughtily away. “ Hum ! ” She was gone. 

Nancy gazed after her listlessly. It seemed 
as if she did not care about anything just then. 
All she wanted was to get to her room and lie 
down and never have to get up again for days 
and days and days. 

Jean went down-town for luncheon, and at 
dinner time she resolutely ignored Nancy’s 
vacant seat. The next morning, however, she 
found Nancy breathing hard and tossing from 
side to side of the bed. 

The sick girl opened burning eyes at Jean’s 
touch. “ I’ve got so much to do,” she said, “ a 
doll and lessons and labels and palms and an 
essay and things. I’ve got to win the Shake- 
speare prize, or else I can’t go home this sum- 
mer. I don’t want to stay in the east and wait 
on a table. I want to go home. I think I’ll 
rest to-day and start in fresh to-morrow. My 
bones ache. I wish it were to-morrow or the 
next day. I’ve got so much to do.” 

“ You’ve got the ‘ grip,’ ” said Jean. “ Lie 
quiet till I go to the infirmary for the head 


158 When Jean and I W zre Sophomores 

nurse. She’ll know what to clo in case the 
doctor has gone to town. Wait a minute.” 

Nancy stopped wondering over the size of 
her own tongue in her hot mouth and looked 
at Jean. “ Your head is round as a bullet.” 
She began to laugh weakly. “You are bullet- 
headed, you are. You’re stubborn. I’m not 
stubborn. I’m reasonable. I have a right to 
decide for myself. Such a round head and 
twinkling black eyes like little bullets. I think 
you are funny.” 

A few minutes later she was aware of a 
large cool hand laid gently upon her brow. 
Lifting her heavy lids, she lay staring up into 
a large smooth face framed broadly between 
bands of molasses-colored hair. 

“ It is like molasses candy when you pull 
it,” she was thinking half aloud. “ It makes 
my arms ache to pull it. I think I’ll rest now. 
I’ve got so much to do to-morrow.” 

“ You’d better come to the infirmary with 
me,” said a motherly voice. “ I can take bet- 
ter care of you there.” 

“ No,” said Nancy, and moved her head to 
and fro on the pillow till the ceiling started to 
dance and darken under queer black waves of 


Semester Bills 


l S9 


something. She regarded it steadily with 
a wide blankness of gaze that frightened 
Jean. 

“ Yes, Nancy,” she coaxed, “ please say you 
will go. I will get your things ready. Think 
of that big sunshiny quiet infirmary, and noth- 
ing to do but rest ! This little dark north room 
will make you worse every moment. Won’t 
you be glad to escape from the roar of that 
dreadful clanging gong right outside this 
door? Indeed, you ought to go.” 

“ No,” she began to shake her head again, 
“ no, no, no ! I can’t afford to go to the in- 
firmary. It costs a dollar and a half a day. 
I want to save my money to go home. No. I 
wish it were to-morrow or the next day. I 
don’t like to-day.” She pressed both hands 
upon her chest. 

The nurse beckoned Jean into the adjoining 
study. 

“ Likely to be congestion of the lungs,” she 
whispered. “ The girl’s built that way. No 
depth of chest, and that fair skin of hers. 
Consumption in the family, isn’t there? ” 

Jean nodded speechlessly. 

“ The doctor won’t be back till Saturday. 


160 When "Jean and 1 Were Sophomores 

I can’t take the risk of leaving her here in 
this room. She must be persuaded to come 
with me.” 

Jean set her teeth. “ I suppose you might 
chloroform her. She’s that stubborn I You 
might as well shove against one of the pyra- 
mids. She hasn’t the money to pay, and she 
won’t borrow. That’s all there is to it un- 
less ” — a thought flashed upon her, “ unless 
you will tell her that the infirmary is free dur- 
ing vacation.” 

The nurse being by nature deliberate looked 
reflective. 

“ I’ll pay it myself, you understand,” ex- 
plained Jean hastily, “ only don’t let her know. 
She won’t accept a penny, even if I go down on 
my knees. The only way out of the tangle is 
for you to convince her it is free, and then have 
the bill sent to me. If she weren’t so proud 
we would not be obliged to deceive her, but as 
it is She knows that I hate lies.” 

“ If the doctor were here, she would arrange 
the question of expense at once. It is of no 
consequence really, but I do not feel that I 
have the responsibility ” 

“ Yes, yes,” broke in Jean, nervous with 


Semester Bills 


161 


anxiety, “ just tell her what I said, won’t you? 
It’ll be all right. Send the bill to me. We’re 
wasting time.” 

“ Very well.” They reentered the bedroom. 
“ You’re to come with me, my dear. It shall 
cost you nothing. Put your mind at rest 
about that. No expense whatever.” 

“ What? ” Nancy frowned in the effort to 
grasp this new idea. “ No expense for stay- 
ing in the infirmary? It won’t cost anything? 
Oh, I see. You mean I could go as a charity 
patient. No, thank you. I am not going. 
I can’t afford to pay, and I won’t go where I 
can’t pay. Thank you, but I can’t go. I 
can’t! I’m not sick. I’m only resting.” 

“ Nancy, you don’t understand.” Jean’s 
worried face leaned over her. “ The infirmary 
is ” — she swallowed once in preparation of the 
choking falsehood — “ is free. I mean it is free 
in vacation. It won’t cost you — I mean, it 
won’t cost anybody a cent. It is free in vaca- 
tion. No charity about it. All you have to 
do is to go there and rest and get well. Don’t 
you understand? It’s free.” 

“ What? ” The sick girl sat up so abruptly 
that the room seemed to go spinning around 


i&2 W hen Jean and I JV ire Sophomores 

her. “ I never heard that. Say it again. Is 
it true? ” 

Jean swallowed again. “ The infirmary is 
free in vacation. No charity about it. Come 
now, say you’ll go.” 

Nancy eyed her doubtfully. “ I don’t want 
to be a bother to the nurses. I think 
I’d rather stay here in my own room,” she 
said. 

“ Oh, but you will die. It isn’t a bother to 
the nurses. They want somebody to keep 
them b-busy — interested, I mean.” Jean 
clutched at the bedpost in order to steady her 
wits. “ You don’t understand. The ‘ grip ’ 
muddles your brain. Remember that, and 
trust my judgment. You know I am thinking 
of your best good. Trust me. Believe ” — 
she gulped down the word, “ believe me. You 
know that I have never told you a lie. I say 
the infirmary is free. And besides,” she added 
desperately at sight of a wavering in the 
flushed face on the pillow, “ if you stay here I 
shall have to nurse you. It would be an awful 
nuisance to brush your hair and bring your 
meals and everything. Can’t you comprehend 
that you are in for a siege with the ‘ grip ’ ? 


Semester Bills 163 

Three days, anyhow. You can rest so much 
better in the infirmary. I don’t want to give 
up basket-ball and walks and everything just 
so as to take care of you. And — and I might 
catch it from you, too. I despise nursing. I 
don’t see how you can think of asking such a 
favor of me when the infirmary won’t cost you 
a cent. It is free.” 

Xancv with a sudden swift movement threw 
off the coverlets and stepped to the floor. “ I’ll 
go,” she gasped, “ I’ll go now.” Then she 
fainted in the nurse’s arms. 

After Jean had returned from escort duty, 
she went into her own room and scrubbed her 
teeth very thoroughly indeed with plenty of 
powder. 

“ I wonder,” she mused whimsically to her- 
self, “ if soap would be more effective. Nice 
strong brown soap such as Mother used the 
first time I ever told a lie.” 

One day two months later Jean departed 
joyously from the examination hall after her 
final trial, wiped the beads of mental anguish 
from her corrugated brow, stopped for a re- 
freshing drink of lemonade in a neighboring 
study, and then went skipping lightly, both as 


164 When Jean and I Were Sophomores 

to heels and head, into the double where Nancy 
was sitting at her desk. 

“ Jean,” she lifted a radiant face from a 
scribbled paper, “ I shall have enough money 
to pay my way home this summer. See, I 
have figured out the expenses. Isn’t it lovely ! 
Oh, Jeanie, you don’t understand. I could 
not bear to think of asking Father for so much 
money just now when the year has been so bad 
in business, and I know he needs every cent. 
I planned to stay east and earn my expenses, 
as so many college students do every summer. 
But now I need not do that. I have earned 
enough to buy a ticket home. Jeanie, I’m 
really going home.” 

Jean drew a quick breath. Something in 
Nancy’s voice seemed to tweak at the small 
busy organ called a heart which was pumping 
away in the other girl’s left side. She caught 
her underlip between her teeth an instant. 

“Nancy, you dear! I am so glad. You 
look as if there were a light inside you. It 
shines out of your eyes and through your skin. 
Have you truly cared so much about not going 
home? You always behaved as if you ex- 
pected to enjoy waiting on the table in some 


Semester Bills 


165 

summer hotel, Were you only pretend- 
ing? ” 

“ I hated the thought of it.” Nancy clasped 
her hands behind her head in an abandon of 
posture so uncharacteristic that it betrayed her 
extraordinary relaxation of mood. “ But did 
you think I would show my feelings when the 
thing couldn’t be helped? I didn’t want your 
pity. I didn’t want to be bothered with offers 
and invitations. I wanted to stand on my 
own feet, thank you. And I have done it — I 
am doing it! ” Her lips, usually firm shut in 
self-control, parted joyously as she leaned far 
back with her face upturned as if smiling into 
the future. 

Jean took an impulsive step forward to drop 
a kiss upon one thin cheek. Then she hesi- 
tated and halted midway, for Nancy had ab- 
ruptly swung forward into an every-day, 
matter-of-fact position and was bending over 
her desk again. 

“ See, that Shakespeare prize of thirty dol- 
lars is what saves me. Isn’t it fortunate that 
I had the material all prepared before I fell 
sick at Easter! That fortnight in the in- 
firmary spoiled my tutoring and so forth. At 


166 When Jean and I Were Sophomores 

the last minute before the essays were due I 
sat up and scribbled mine off. And here is 
the first prize, thank you. It will just carry 
me home. Talk of luck! Imagine where I 
should be if I had an infirmary bill to pay! ” 

Jean felt a rush of color blaze up from throat 
to forehead, and hastily sidled farther behind 
Nancy’s chair. “ It isn’t everybody who has a 
body sufficiently well-regulated to save its 
‘ grip ’ for holidays,” she managed to remark; 
“ the infirmary isn’t free every day.” 

“ No,” Nancy sighed happily. “ Talk of 
luck ! as I have exclaimed before. Queer that I 
never heard of that rule about its being free in 
vacation. I must ask the doctor about it 
soon. It’s a splendid plan, but queer. I must 
get her to explain. My bill at the regular 
rates would have amounted to just about thirty 
dollars. Then good-bye to going home this 
summer for me!” 

“ Oh, oh! ” Jean’s sudden shriek of dismay 
was so near her ear that Nancy sprang to her 
feet. 

“ What is the matter? ” She was trembling 
from the shock, for her system had not yet re- 
covered from the strain of her illness. 


Semester Bills 167 

“ Nothing — nothing much. I just all at 
once remembered that I had forgotten some- 
thing. My semester bill came this morning, 
and it’s wrong. They’ve left out part of it. 
They’ve forgotten. They’ve made a mistake. 
I didn’t notice at first. I’m going to tell them. 
Oh, please get out of my way. I’m in a 
hurry.” 

“ Well,” Nancy stood stiff and straight, re- 
garding the other girl with a puzzled half- 
suspicious frown, “ if I am in your way, why 
not walk around me? ” 

“There’s somebody at the door!” Jean 
flew at the knob and twisted it this way and 
that. “ What a stubborn old catch — just like 
you. Now then! Ah!” She flung it open. 
“ It’s the girl with your mail. Thank you. 
Let me have it.” She held out her hand for 
the letters and smiled an acknowledgment to 
the retreating carrier. “ Here, Nancy, two 
flunk notes, an invitation, a letter from your 
mother — I bow her writing — and a big en- 
velope. Looks official, doesn’t it? Oh!” 
She made an involuntary motion to snatch it 
back. “ Let me have that last, won’t you? 
Maybe it’s — it’s an advertisement.” She 


168 When Jean a?td I Were Sophomores 

faltered suddenly and sat down in the nearest 
chair. “Nancy!” 

The appealing little cry in which her name 
was uttered apparently did not touch Nancy’s 
attention. She was ripping open the big of- 
ficial envelope. After one swift glance at the 
enclosed sheet, she lifted her eyes and looked 
straight at Jean. 

“ It is my semester bill.” She spoke in a 
tone without inflections. “ The charge for my 
two weeks in the infirmary will take all the 
money that I have planned to use for my jour- 
ney home.” 

Jean hung her head guiltily. “ It’s — it’s a 
mistake. Here, give it to me. I will explain 
to the treasurer. Maybe he forgot that you 
were there during the vacation. They’re hate- 
ful — every one of them. I’ll fix it. I’ll at- 
tend to it for you. I was going to see him any- 
how about my bill. I’ll tell him — I’ll tell him 
about its being free.” 

Nancy regarded her steadily. “ You told 
me a lie. You said that the infirmary was free 
during vacation. You meant to pay the bill 
yourself. You asked them to send it to 
you, but they made a mistake. I shall never 


Semester Bills 


169 

believe a word you say all the rest of my 
life.” 

Jean stole one swift glance at the white face 
confronting her, and then resumed her study of 
the figures on the rug. “ The doctor said you 
might have died if you had stayed in your room. 
She said it was the nursing that saved you. 
She said — I did right.” 

“ You told me a lie,” said Nancy. 

A peculiar blurring of the rug’s pattern 
warned Jean that she must now choose between 
a shower of tears and an electric shock of tonic 
wrath. All was lost anyhow, and she might 
as well get what satisfaction she could out of 
the catastrophe. The tears could wait till she 
had escaped. Meanwhile Nancy was looking 
at her. 

“ I told you a lie.” She swallowed once 
nervously, for somehow it seemed as if there 
were a taste of brown soap in her mouth. 
“ Yes, I did tell you a lie. Why? Because I 
like to tell lies. Oh, yes, of course, certainly. 
It wasn’t hard for me in the least. My own 
perverse love of deceit moved my tongue. I 
delighted to falsify. In fact, I liked it. I en- 
joyed deceiving you. Of course, certainly 


1 70 W hen "Jean and I W zre Sophomores 

the pleasure is mine. I did it for my own 
sake because I dreaded the nuisance of taking 
care of you. That was the sole and only rea- 
son for such a crime. You choose to be inde- 
pendent. I choose to tell lies. There is no 
connection between the two, assuredly. If 
you choose to die rather than to borrow a few 
dollars, it is none of my business. I did not 
tell a lie for your sake, oh, no, of course not. 
You aren’t to blame, certainly not. You 
might have died, and I might have felt like a 
murderer all the rest of my life, but that was 
no business of mine. Of course not. I tell 
lies for — for fun and for — for — for instance, I 
guess. Now I am going. I wish you a pleas- 
ant summer, Miss Blake. And, anyhow, you 
had no right to get so tired out in the first 
place. It is selfish for you to be so proud. 
It is — it is — selfish!” 

Nancy watched motionless till the door had 
closed with exaggerated gentleness. Then she 
dropped into a chair and leaning her head 
against the back stared at nothing for a long, 
long time. 

Finally she rose, picked up the bill, slipped 
it into the torn envelope, and went to knock at 


Semester Bills 


171 


Jean’s door. After an interval during which 
the sound of faint splashing was heard, the 
knob turned, and a young person with stained 
cheeks and suffused eyes peered cautiously out. 

Nancy cleared her throat. “ Here is the 
bill, Jean,” she said. “ I shall be very — 
glad — if you will — pay it for me. I— shall 
be ” — the words were choking her — “ I shall 
be — glad.” 

“ Oh,” cried Jean, “ oh, Nancy! ” She hid 
her face against the other girl’s sleeve. Pres- 
ently she raised it, radiant after the storm. “ I 
don’t believe that lie really needed very strong 
brown soap, do you? ” she said. 


IX 


Elizabeth's mistake 

My April composition is a work of fiction. 
The characters are partly made up and partly 
drawn from life. In choosing names for each 
one I have endeavored to indicate her qualities. 
For example, the heroine or protagonist, as the 
Greeks styled the leading actor in a drama, 
though christened Elizabeth, is called Beth at 
college. This gives the intelligent reader a 
hint of how much she seemed to change after 
leaving her home. Her roommate is named 
Lucy, which sounds soft and sweet and 
pleasant, hence appropriate. Thus is illus- 
trated one principle of my artistic method in 
fiction as distinguished from real life. 

The story now begins. 

“ There she comes! Let’s hide quick!” 
Beth put her foot on the first step and glanced 
up at the rows of girls who filled the stairs 
172 


Elizabeth's Mistake 


m 


from wall to banister, except for a narrow 
pathway in the middle of the flight. “ Pardon 
me. Can’t you squeeze a little closer, Nellie 
darling? What a disgraceful lot of freshmen 
to be blocking up the road, when the com- 
mittee warned you to keep away from here 
this night! Come along, Lucy. The good 
little bore will catch you if you don’t watch 
out.” 

The slender gipsy-eyed girl in white sped 
lightly up, tossing a mischievous word here 
and there. Behind her, a taller young woman 
with a serious fair face followed more slowly. 
Beth paused at a bend in the stairway and hid 
behind a pillar, while she peered down to scan 
the lower corridor now crowded with a shift- 
ing throng. 

“Hist! There she is beneath the clock. 
That moon-faced creature in the flaming red 
cotton crape is Miss Gwendolin Dorothea 
James. Notice the hitchy stylishness of the 
sleeves. And her mother is a caution — hair 
in a tight knob, shiny best gown, beatific 
smile. Can you believe it? Gwendolin Doro- 
thea Cassandra Iphigenia James invited me to 
promenade with her this dance number! Not 


174 When yean and I Were Sophomores 

this child, thank you. I entertained my full 
share of bores before I came to college.” 

Lucy had halted obediently to survey the ob- 
jects of Beth’s criticism. 

“ Mrs. James is president of the Alumna? 
Association,” she suggested mildly. “ Per- 
haps she would not bore you much.” 

“ Perhaps she wouldn’t,” replied Beth airily, 
“ but I do not intend to run any risk of spoil- 
ing one single beautiful minute of my college 
days. Do you know why I love this place? 
It is because I am free, free, free, like the 
Miller of Dee — Dee — Dee. I care for no- 
body, no, not I, and nobody cares for me. Ex- 
cept for you, of course, dear Lucy, and maybe 
for a dozen or so of the others. But I don’t 
have to care for anybody unless I choose; and 
I needn’t be nice to anybody if I don’t feel 
like it ; and I shan’t be an example any more.” 

“ An example? ” echoed Lucy, looking 
puzzled. “ I didn’t know you were ever an 
example.” 

“ At home they always expected me to be an 
example to the younger children. I was polite 
to every stupid who called, and I mended the 
family stockings and wasTied the family hands 


Elizabeth's Mistake 


l 75 


and carried the family responsibilities — at 
least, in my own imagination. I took care of 
the entire high school dignity, and I never had 
any real true gay-hearted fun until I entered 
college. But now, dear Lucy,” she interrupted 
herself to lean further over the railing, and her 
declamatory tone fell to accents of colloquial 
ease, “ I am going to have a lot, especially this 
evening. Do you see that maid with a tray of 
ices? Let’s run down the side stairs, ambush 
one or two, and confiscate their refreshments, 
and have a good old time in Margaret’s room.” 

“ All right,” agreed Lucy, according to 
custom. 

“ Farewell, Gwendolin Dorothea and your 
mamma! ” Beth waved a saucy hand toward 
the two patiently watchful faces beneath the 
clock. “ Don’t wait for me more than three 
hours there, please’m. Now, come along, 
Lucy.” 

Lucy followed docilely in her wake. Ever 
since the first day at college, when this slow 
and serious freshman had found herself allotted 
to a double room with Elizabeth Coutant, she 
had adopted this new friend as her leader. 
Lucy had always followed somebody, from 


176 W hen Jean and I Were Sophomores 

the days when her first toddling steps toiled 
through the house after her busy mother. The 
example of her book-loving brother started her 
early to school, and her unquestioning admira- 
tion of a classmate inspired her to become 
studious. An ambitious teacher in the high 
school was the later model whom she imitated 
so well that she was graduated with honors, 
and afterward won an entrance scholarship to 
a famous college for women. Then she had 
met Beth. 

On this April evening of the reception, Beth 
captured a laden tray at the door of the re- 
freshment-room in the lower hall. Trans- 
ferring two plates of striped ice-cream to Lucy, 
she heaped macaroons and lady-fingers at the 
border of the dishes, managed to balance three 
plates in her own hands, and fled, laughing, up 
the gloomy side stairs to the fourth floor. 

Here the sound of the music below floated 
etherealized in the dusky spaces of deserted cor- 
ridors. It set Beth’s feet to dancing, and she 
waltzed gaily on ahead at imminent danger to 
her precious tottery burden. Just as she 
whirled into the alleyway leading to Mar- 
garet’s study her fingers began to slide along 


Elizabeth! s Mistake 


177 

the slippery rim of a plate. With a squeal 
and a wriggle, a wild dash, frantic clutch, a 
smash and a crash, she sprang over the thresh- 
old toward the haven of a table, while china, 
cream and cakes showered around her. Even 
before she raised her dismayed eyes she was 
aware that the room was filled with people — 
half a dozen girls, two young men, a cadet in 
brass buttons, and an elderly man who looked 
like Margaret. 

Margaret gave his arm a squeeze as a sign 
for him to watch how wittily the newcomer 
could carry off such a situation. 

“ Ah, good-evening, Miss Coutant. Won’t 
you sit down and so forth? Pray, do not 
stand on ceremony.” 

A spark snapped into Beth’s gipsy eyes, 
although a flush of rosy embarrassment had 
already crept above the lacy edge of her 
square-necked gown. 

“ Thank you,” she said with dignity. “ I 
trust that your guests will enjoy the refresh- 
ments. The ice-cream used to be striped,” she 
explained, gazing mournfully down at the 
mottled delicious mixture on the floor. 

At the storm of spontaneous laughter Beth 


178 When "Jean and I Were Sophomores 

laughed too — an irresistible bubbling chuckle 
that caused one of the strangers to stare at her 
with increased amazement. She murmured a 
low comment, half to herself. 

“ That cannot be Elizabeth Coutant. I 
never saw such a change.” 

“ Yes, indeed, that is Beth Coutant,” re- 
sponded a girl beside the speaker. “ Isn’t she 
an imp? ” 

“An imp? Elizabeth Coutant an imp!” 
repeated the puzzled guest. “ How is it pos- 
sible? In the high school at home she was 
a — a — model. I cannot remember ever seeing 
her laugh so heartily though I was in the same 
class for years.” 

“ How dreadful ! I cannot imagine Beth a 
model. Here at college she behaves like a 
child of seven or under. Lucy Howard there 
behind her, with a plate of ice in each hand, is 
her faithful disciple. I am surprised that she 
refrains from depositing her refreshments also 
on the rug. Awfully sweet and charming and 
all that, you know, but easily influenced by her 
friends. She isn’t the only one who admires 
Beth Coutant. Ah, look! Beth is coming to 
speak to you.” 


Elizabeth! s Mistake 


179 

“ Why, Grace Allender, where did you drop 
from? ” exclaimed Beth, her face a curious 
mixture of impulsive pleasure checked by 
dawning self-consciousness. As she talked 
her manner stiffened, becoming sedate and 
thoughtful. 

“ Were you home from boarding-school for 
the Easter holidays? And did you see my 
family and talk to them? Oh, how good! 
Do tell me how everybody looked. Have the 
children grown? Is anybody sick? They 
never write anything disagreeable in letters 
because they don’t want me to worry or feel 
responsible. I haven’t seen them since last 
September. I’ve simply got to talk to you 
and hear all about everything at home. You 

must give me this dance ” 

A newcomer stood in the doorway. “ The 
seventh number has started, and everybody is 
hunting for all of you. You don’t know how 

to behave in real society, ladies and ” 

“ so forth,” laughed the owner of the 

room, beginning to marshall her guests. 
“ Come along, Father. You are promised to 
Evanna for this one. Run on, Beth, and cap- 
ture the unfortunate sealed to you, while Miss 


180 When Jean and I Were Sophomores 

Allender has the honor of escorting my small 
brother down to taste ice-cream that is truly 
striped.” 

“You can’t have Grace Allender,” disputed 
Beth, drawing the visitor’s arm through hers. 
“ I want to talk to her. We are now on our 
way to the two biggest chairs in the back draw- 
ing-room, where the light is so artistic that not 
a partner will recognize us and seek to drag 
us forth to ordinary small and early conversa- 
tion. Come, Grace.” 

As Miss Allender hesitated, glancing from 
Margaret’s humorously resigned expression to 
Beth’s mischievous face, the latter volunteered 
carelessly: “ Don’t bother about the names on 
your program. Mine is filled, too, but what’s 
the difference if we want to change our minds? 
The secret of happiness is to do as you 
please ” 

“Elizabeth!” gasped her old friend. “I 
can’t believe it is your voice.” 

“ ’Cuz I’ve been taking elocution,” laughed 
Beth, urging her down toward the drawing- 
rooms. “ I’ve been improving right along. 
Oh ! ” She halted suddenly, slipping around to 
her companion’s other side. “ Oh, my land! ” 


Elizabeth* s Mistake 181 

“ What is the 'matter? ” 

“Landie! There comes Gwendolin Iphi- 
genia Casabianca, and I am in full view be- 
neath this light. She is chasing some partner 
for this number, I know she is. Somehow I 
almost remember letting her put my name on 
her mother’s program. Now for it!” 

The young girl in the home-made red crape 
frock struck Grace as nervously diffident. 

“ Miss Coutant! I could not find you any- 
where for the last danbe, and now my mother’s 
program is completely mixed. I cannot find 
anybody in this crush. Would you be so kind* 
Miss Coutant, as to help me out a little? My 
head is splitting, or I would* not trouble you 
now, even though my mother is very anxious 
to meet several members of your class. Isn’t 
there some way that you can arrange so that 
my mother may have an opportunity to speak 
to you this evening? ” 

“ I’m frightfully sorry,” cried Beth in much 
too gushing an accent to be sincere, “ but I 
shall not have a minute free during the entire 
reception. My program is quite full, extras 
and all. And every spare moment must be 
given to an old friend of mine, Miss Allender* 


182 When Jean and I Were Sophomores 

who must leave early in the morning. It is 
too bad that we missed each other for the 
promised number. How could it have hap- 
pened? 5 5 At this point a glimpse of Lucy’s 
twinkling face watching the group from an 
angle of the staircase above them inspired Beth 
to send her an impudent wink with the eye 
farthest from Gwendolin. Scarcely had her 
naughty lashes flown upward again before she 
spied an elderly woman behind Lucy, her sober 
and exceedingly keen gaze fixed upon Beth 
herself. 

“ How could it have happened? ” she re- 
peated, rather faintly this time. “ Better luck 
next year, perhaps. Good-evening.” And 
she fled to the big chairs in the shadowy corner. 

“ Oh, my land! ” she groaned in mock con- 
trition. “ Mrs. James saw me wink at Lucy 
while I was talking to her precious daughter. 
She looked as if she understood, too. Ah, 
well, who cares? I don’t ask for any favors 
from her even if she is president of the Alumnae 
Association. Why should I sacrifice my 
pleasure for her sake? Let’s forget it. Sit 
down, Grace, and talk to me nicely.” 

Grace dropped limply into a seat. 


Elizabeth' s Mistake 183 

“ You’re so queer,” she spoke in a bewil- 
dered tone. “ You’ve — changed.” 

“ Thank you.” Beth swept her a grateful 
curtsey. “ I certainly feel different.” 

“ In the high school one morning,” continued 
Grace, half thinking aloud, “ six or seven of 
us went to the skeleton’s room to count his 
bones or something. We made so much noise 
giggling and fooling that the principal came 
rushing in. The moment he caught sight of 
you his expression altered on the instant to 
relieved approval. He said, ‘ Ah, Miss Cou- 
tant is here. Then it is all right.’ ” 

Beth, leaning back in her chair, crossed her 
knees. 

“ That is precisely what I was tired of,” she 
explained. “ I was tired of being a model and 
an example. I wanted to be myself and have 
fun without thinking about other persons or 
duties or rights or obligations or responsi- 
bilities or anything. At first it was hard to 
leave the family because they needed me, you 
know, but they insisted ” she paused. 

“ Of course, they insisted,” put in Grace. 
“ Everybody insisted. It would have been 
distressingly short-sighted to keep you at 


1 84 When yean and I W zre Sophomores 

home, you, with your ability, which needs culti- 
vating. You are exceptionally responsive to 
environment. After you finish college, you 
will be able to help the younger ones better 
than if you had gone at once into teaching. 
You can earn a larger salary when more 
thoroughly equipped.” 

“ Yes,” nodded Beth, “ that is what they all 
said. So I came, and I — I — well, it is dif- 
ferent here. I do as I like. Nothing to 
bother about except taking care of myself and 
my own work. I don’t owe a duty to any- 
body. Even at breakfast ” — she hesitated, the 
faint sensation of a blush stealing over her 
cheek, “ I won’t sit near the jritcher of milk 
because it is such a nuisance to pour it out for 
ten people.” 

“ Elizabeth Coutant! ” Grace’s ejaculation 
ended in an appreciative chuckle over the con- 
trast between Beth’s home and college table 
customs. 

“ You needn’t laugh,” protested Beth, 
though she joined in reluctantly. “ Anyhow 
it has worked beautifully so far. You need 
not come worrying around like an accusing 
conscience. I hate rules. I hate obligations. 


Elizabeth's Mistake 185 

I enjoy crossing my knees without thinking 
once of being an example to the children. Do 
you hear? I enjoy acting just as I feel, and 
being rude or polite or anything else exactly 
as I choose. The secret of happiness, I re- 
peat, is to do as you please.” 

“ How about studying? ” 

“ Studying? That does not interfere enough 
to hurt. Anyhow, I like to study. It doesn’t 
take long. I tuck it in and seize the fun, 
too.” 

“ But suppose you were not brilliant? Sup- 
pose you were slow? ” 

The dark eyes twinkled. 

“ Oh, thank you, thank you, Grace ! That 
fashionable boarding-school has not hurt you 
one bit. You’re the same dear sweet pleasant 
little flattering lady. There comes Lucy. I 
will point her to you as a model in manners 
toward a contemporary — me, ahem!” 

Lucy approached, winding carefully in and 
out through the stream of promenaders in the 
corridor. After being introduced to Grace 
and speaking a few courteous words she turned 
to Beth. 

“ I must run up-stairs now,” she said. “ It 


186 When Jean and I Were Sophomores 

is nearly eleven, and I must get up early to 
write my essay. It is overdue already.” 

Smiling up at her whimsically, Beth pulled 
her down on an arm of the chair. 

“ Now, Lucy, darling, you wouldn’t be de- 
serting me like that. How can I walk alone 
across the campus to our room at midnight? ” 

“ There will be plenty of others,” protested 
literal Lucy. “ To-morrow, besides the essay, 
I have Latin prose and trig to do.” 

“ Oh, scratch that off any hour. Do them 
in the forenoon anyhow, for in the afternoon 
we are all going for a long drive into the 
country to celebrate May Day. Do, dear 
Lucy, be sweet and obliging and pretty-man- 
nered, like Gracie here. She would let forty 
essays take care of themselves if I asked her.” 

Lucy turned doubtful eyes upon the visitor. 

“ Do you really think I ought to risk it? ” 
she inquired, obviously wistful to rest on 
advice. 

“Heigho!” Beth interrupted Grace be- 
fore she could reply. “ There is Margaret 
hunting us with wrath in her heart. She has 
such funny notions about sticking to programs 
whether it is convenient or not. Gracie, don’t 


Elizabeth' s Mistake 187 

you dare drop me at her bidding. I want to 
talk to you longer ” 

Margaret descended upon them with an ex- 
clamation of relief. 

“You dreadful Beth! How could you 
carry Miss Allender away and keep her hidden 
for two numbers? It has mixed me all up 
with my programs. Never again shall I try 
to manage three guests for the same evening. 
If you will wait here a moment, Miss Allender, 
I will make some sort of connections with a 
partner for you. Don’t let Beth budge you 
from that spot. Come along, Lucy, and 
amuse that brother of mine by taking him 
down for more refreshments. I feel so whirly 
that I’m not sure my head is on straight.” 

“ Straighter than your hair,” laughed irre- 
pressible Beth. “ If you scold me any harder 
mine will curl, thank you.” 

Turning to her companion in search of an 
answering gleam of fun, she found Grace 
soberly gazing after the two departing 
girls. 

“ Is Lucy — I mean, Miss Harmon — slow in 
her studies? ” 

Beth hesitated. 


188 When Jean and I Were Sophomores 

“ Perhaps she is not so quick as some of the 
students are.” 

“ Didn’t she enter on a scholarship? I can 
almost remember seeing her name in a news- 
paper list of those who had won something of 
the sort.” 

“ Yes, Lucy led her high school class, and 
competed for the entrance scholarship. She 
is very thorough even if she is slow. Fancy! 
She studied Greek words all the way to col- 
lege — three days on the train. No wonder 
she shone in our first recitation! At first I 
felt so humble that I almost went home. She 
surely was our star all right — at first.” 

“ But later? Did she change? Was your 
influence ” 

Beth shrugged impatient shoulders. 

“ Don’t spoil my fun, Grace. Everything 
has gone beautifully so far, I tell you. Here 
it is the last of April, and she is getting 
through the work well enough. When I am 
a junior, maybe I’ll settle down and be a poky 
responsible person, and keep Lucy up to the 
mark. But sophomores are different. They 
are under-classmen without any duties except 
to study. I won’t have my splendid year 


Elizabeth' s Mistake 189 

spoiled. I shall do as I please, and have 
fun.” 

“ And be utterly selfish? ” 

Beth stiffened her head defiantly. 

“ If you choose to call it that,” she replied. 
“ Grace AJlender, if you learned to be so 
preachy at boarding-school, I’m glad I came 
to college. We have freedom here. Oh, 
Grade, I beg your pardon, but you always did 
rub me the wrong way, even when I was an 
example to the neighbors and had to hold my 
tongue about it.” 

Grace bit her lip. 

“ I am sorry, Elizabeth. That little Lucy 
seems to admire you, that’s all. I won’t med- 
dle any more. Ah, there is Margaret.” 

“ With Gwendolin Dorothea and her 
mamma in tow! Farewell, Gracie. I’ll see 
you in the morning. I flee! ” 

On the morrow, however, Grace saw nothing 
of Beth, though she was persuaded to remain 
all day. Departing at twilight, she turned a 
final puzzled glance of doubt upon the beauti- 
ful place where bareheaded girls were strolling 
to and fro in the lovely spring evening. If 
life there changed many girls, as it had 


190 When Jean and I Were Sophomores 

changed Elizabeth Coutant, she would cer- 
tainly send her daughter, if she ever had one, 
to boarding-school instead of to college. 

As for Beth, at that moment when Grace 
was judging the dear old college by its effect 
on this particular girl, she was sitting in her 
own room, her elbows propped on the sill, her 
troubled eyes gazing distractedly across the 
shadowy evergreens, far and far away to the 
distant purple mountains. Behind her Lucy 
was moving restlessly from bookcase to table 
and back again, a feather duster in her hand, 
and on her face a quivery grimace that she 
intended to be a smile. 

At last Beth spoke, without lifting her chin 
from her fists. 

“ When Prexie summoned you this fore- 
noon for an interview about your scholarship 
loan for next year he really told you that your 
work has been growing poorer ever since you 
entered college? ” 

Lucy swallowed. “ Yes, and he said that 
he could not feel justified in giving it to me 
for another year, as my record failed to deserve 
any such aid. He meant that I am not worth 
keeping at college.” 


Elizabeth' s Mistake 


191 


“ Did you tell him that it was my fault? ” 

Lucy’s duster stopped short in its nervous 
dragging across a chair back. 

“ Of course I didn’t. It is not your fault. 
I am too slow — that is the trouble. You can 
learn a thing just by reading it over. I can’t. 
I tried to, but I can’t. And now — and 
now ” Her voice faltered. 

“ And now you cannot come back to college 
next year. It is my fault, I tell you. Sup- 
pose that you had happened to room with 
Gwendolin James, for instance? Would you 
have slipped back? ” 

Lucy uttered no sound. After a minute of 
stillness, Beth twisted her head to look. 

“ You see,” she commented quietly. “ You 
know it would have been different. You 
would not have wasted your energy and time 
on idle fun as I have done. You would have 
been granted another scholarship. You would 
be coming back to college next year.” 

“ It — it — I don’t believe it is your fault,” 
stammered Lucy. “ If only I were not so 
slow ” 

Beth’s forehead took a sudden little drop 
forward till her fingers were pressing her eye- 


192 When yean and I Were Sophomores 

balls. An instant later she shook herself 
straight and marched to the door. 

“ I am going to interview Prexie myself,” 
she said. “ You wait here for me, Lucy.” 

Half an hour afterward, Miss Elizabeth 
Coutant rose from the edge of a chair beside 
the president’s desk. 

“ Is that the only way? ” 

He studied her with shrewd kindliness. 

“ I see no other, Miss Coutant. It is im- 
possible for the college to bestow its official 
aid upon a student with a record below that of 
other candidates whose applications must be 
denied if the money is given to the inferior 
scholar. If I were at liberty to follow my 
own inclinations, especially in view of what 
you have told me to-night, I should probably 
grant Miss Harmon a scholarship on the 
prospect of her improvement next year.” 

“ And you think I would have no right to 
substitute her in my place? ” 

“ You know best concerning that. Cer- 
tainly, if, as I understand it, you are here at 
the cost of a financial sacrifice on the part of 
your family, you have no right to ask them to 
spend the same money on a stranger, even in 


Elizabeth's Mistake 


!93 

case you yourself are willing to surrender your 
college training.” 

“ But — the other suggestion — I must man- 
age somehow.” 

“ The third method is also dubious. I trust, 
Miss Coutant, that you do not mistake my 
attitude. Even if it were feasible for you to 
apply for a scholarship — and I do not say that 
your work would not deserve it in spite of your 
confession of idleness — and if it were also 
practicable for you to pass over to your friend 
the sum provided for you by your family, still 
it seems hardly fair to them for you to saddle 
yourself with a debt. Such a scholarship is to 
be considered as a loan, to be repaid when the 
beneficiary is able to do so. I question whether 
you would be justified in assuming such a per- 
sonal debt even in behalf of a friend for whom 
you regard yourself responsible.” 

“You think that it is best for me to assist 
Miss Harmon to obtain a loan from the 
Alumnae Association, sir? ” 

“ Yes, that is the only way that I see at 
present, Miss Coutant. They expect to have 
a surplus this year, and may be willing to use 
it for the benefit of your classmate. I will go 


194 When “Jean and I Were Sophomores 

over her work again with the different in- 
structors, and decide what recommendation to 
make. The first semester of her freshman 
year made an excellent record. I would advise 
you to consult Mrs. James, the president of 
the Alumnae, who is now visiting the college. 
Possibly you have already met Mrs. James? 
She has strong influence in the Association.” 

Beth’s steady gaze flinched a confused in- 
stant. 

“ No, sir, I regret to say that I have not,” 
she answered. 

“ The sooner the better, then.” He escorted 
her courteously to the door. 

With a dim smile that faded quickly, Beth 
nodded her thanks, hurried across the porch, 
ran down the steps, sped along the winding 
path in the fragrant cool darkness. At a bend 
of the avenue she suddenly swerved aside near 
one of the giant evergreens and sank down 
upon a bench beneath its drooping branches. 

“ Oh, oh, oh ! ” she moaned, beating her fists 
softly against the metal back. “ Why did I 
ever do it? Why, why, why did I do it? And 
she saw me wink! She saw me making fun of 
her own daughter. Think of asking her a 





WHY DID I EVER DO IT?” 


















« 


4 











































4 










> 









4 












Elizabeth's Mistake 195 

favor! Think of going to her and beg- 
ging!” 

Sj)reading out her arms, she began to beat 
her forehead, penitentially, although gently 
for all that, against the bench. 

Two pairs of footsteps sounded on the walk 
that led to the main building. Beth raised her 
head at the sound of Gwendoline voice. 

“ I knew you would think her attractive, 
Mother. Hasn’t she the most interesting face ! 
Her eyes alone show how different she is from 
others. A regular genius, too, erratic, lawless, 
never keeps her engagements, studies any old 
time. Moods! She lets them run her. One 
day she is sweet as honey, and the next she 
glowers at everybody. But in spite of that, 
she has charm as well as ability, though it does 
not always show, I’ll admit. I was disap- 
pointed clear through that she missed meeting 
you. She is witty — particularly when she 
criticizes anybody. Mother, I think I could 
be wittier if I did not mind saying mean 
things. I certainly am sorry that you have 
not spoken to her. You remember her face, 
don’t you? Didn’t you like her looks, 
Mother? ” 


196 When yean and I Were Sophomores 

“ Yes, I noticed her, Gwennie. Naturally 
I care a good deal about your choice of friends. 
I want you to learn to admire the best and 
finest everywhere. Miss Coutant is — well, I 
grant that she is a girl that I am likely to 
remember.” 

“Mother! You don’t like her!” The 
tone rang sharp with dismay. 

“ Not exactly that, dear. She impressed 
me as a mixture of qualities — like all of us, I 
dare say. Possibly she will outgrow the law- 
less phase. We do not wish to develop selfish- 
ness in our graduates. There is a tendency in 
that direction, I regret to admit, for the com- 
munity life here is singularly free from mutual 
obligations that make for character in its high- 
est sense. The savage is selfish; civilization 
means progress toward altruism, regard for 
others. The best type of man or woman is 
essentially considerate of others. Is Miss 
Coutant considerate? Remember, ‘ none of 
us liveth to himself.’ ” 

The voices faded away. Beth lay quiet, her 
brow against the cold iron, minute after min- 
ute. Presently a gong sounded faint and 
silvery from the corridors. The girl rose and 


Elizabeth' s Mistake 197 

moved slowly toward the lights of the main 
building. 

“ I will go to her and tell her that I am 
ashamed,” she murmured to herself. “ I will 
say that I am ashamed — I am ashamed.” 


X 


THE FIRST CHOICE IN DOUBLES 

The other day in the editorial sanctum X 
noticed an ink-spot on my handkerchief and 
remarked, “ I wonder where that came from.” 

Margaret V. Adams, wrinkling up her nose, 
said, “ Out of your veins, I fancy.” 

After a while I understood that she meant 
I have no human heart. I do not think it is a 
compliment to imply that a person has ink in 
her veins instead of warm red blood. It is the 
same as asserting that she cares more for writ- 
ing than for people. That is a terrible thing 
to say about anybody, either man or woman, 
but especially about a girl. 

Evanna says that if I can truly tell this story 
just as it felt to me at the time, instead of 
pretending that I did not mind, then Margaret 
will see that she has been mistaken in judging 
me to be all intellect. In reality I am not 
thus. Far from it! 

Last week the sophomores gathered in the 
198 


"The First Choice in Doubles 


l 99 


lecture-room, and drew numbered slips from a 
box. The number on each slip indicated its 
owner’s order of choice in selecting a room for 
next year. For example, I drew number one 
in doubles, and accordingly won the right to 
choose first from the entire list of doubles 
assigned to our class. This story will explain 
why I was not happy. 

The time of the opening paragraph is the 
day after the drawing. I will allude to myself 
in the third person, as that is less embarrassing. 

With a faint smile of farewell stiffening on 
her lips, the girl who had drawn first choice in 
doubles sat listening to the two pairs of foot- 
steps that were hastening with apparently 
light-hearted rapidity down the stairs outside 
the door of her study. She leaned forward, 
intent to catch the last staccato echo of their 
departure. Finally at the slam of a heavy 
door two flights below, Nancy, with a sudden 
despairing gesture, fking out both arms upon 
the desk before her and dropped her face upon 
them. 

The next minute she was on her feet in start- 
led alarm at the sound of a lingering rub-a- 
dub-dub on the door. The knob turned lei- 


200 When Jean and I W ire Sophomores 

surely, and in glided Evanna without waiting 
to be invited. 

Nancy cleared her throat and said, “ Come 
in.” 

Evanna turned around as if to pick out a 
soft corner of the couch, her genuine motive, 
however, being to give the other girl an op- 
portunity to brush the tears from her lashes. 

“ I am in,” she said, sitting down and gazing 
languidly around at the furniture. “ I came 
in on purpose.” 

Nancy put her handkerchief back in her belt. 

“ On purpose for what? ” she inquired, not 
because she cared just then, but in order to fill 
the time. 

The caller folded her long hands. 

“ On purpose to be in.” She gazed around 
again. “ Honey, what’s the matter? ” 

“ Nothing,” said Nancy. Her underlip 
shook. 

Evanna was not looking at her, and maybe 
she did not notice. She seemed to be inter- 
ested in the transom over the door. 

“ Honey, have you and Jean chosen your 
double for next year yet? I’d sure be tickled 
to have a single in the same dormitory. Just 


The First Choice in Doubles 201 

my awful luck to draw number thirty-three! 
I reckon I’d find you-all dancing high jinks 
in here over the first choice in doubles. Doesn’t 
the list suit you? Have the juniors raked in 
all the suites you especially wanted? Where’s 
Jean? ” 

Nancy hunted in her desk for a minute, her 
face hidden. Picking up a packet of notes she 
began to snap the elastic band upon it. 

“ I guess she has gone to the orchard to 
study,” she answered at last in a smothered 
voice. 

“ Alone? ” 

The elastic broke, stinging Nancy’s fingers. 

“ No,” she answered, and sucked the red 
mark. It hurt. 

“ Who went with her? ” 

Nancy acted as if she hated to say the name. 

“ Gladys Brown.” 

Evanna grunted: “That girl!” She did 
not like her either. 

Nancy hunted for another elastic. 

“ White trash! ” muttered Evanna. 

Nancy twisted around to say: “ She is 
bright. You cannot deny that she is bright in 
her studies. Jean likes her.” 


202 When yean and I W ire Sophomores 

“ Humph ! I fail to see why. I have never 
been able to endure that girl from the first 
glimpse of her when she came slinking into the 
dining-room last February. Why did she 
leave Wellesley and arrive here in the middle 
of the year, I’d be pleased to hear? There is 
a mystery about that. The way she has been 
purring over Jean ever since they were shut up 
together with tonsilitis in the isolation ward 
makes me squirm. Jean, who hates anything 
sly or underhand. Jean, who is so straight 
about everything that she almost leans back- 
ward. Jean — and that girl! ” 

Nancy caught a quick sigh. 

“You ought to be fair even if you don’t care 
for her. I try to be fair. Nobody knows any- 
thing certain against her. It is horrid to sus- 
pect and imagine things. It is mean to talk. 

I keep scolding myself ” 

“ Scold me, honey. If you could see inside 
my mind and listen to the names I call that 

girl for stealing Jean from you ” 

Nancy flinched as if she had been struck. 
“Oh, no! Oh, no, no, no! Jean is only 
sorry for her, that is all. She wants to be kind. 
Don’t you think that is the reason? She knows 


The First Choice in Doubles 203 

that I have plenty of other friends, but Gladys 
Brown has no one else except Jean. The 
other girls don’t like her. Jean is kind to her. 
It isn’t because she really prefers Gladys — it 
isn’t that at all. I am quite sure it isn’t. At 
least, I am almost sure. Don’t you think she 
still cares most for her old friends? If I be- 
lieved that she liked Gladys best — if I thought 
that she would rather room with her next 
year — if I thought — if I thought she was 
tired ” — Nancy pressed her lips together — 
“ tired of rooming with me ” 

Evanna sniffed, not because she felt like 
sniffing, you understand, but because she hoped 
it would do Nancy good. 

“ I should think you would have too much 
self-respect, Nancy Blake, to be jealous of a 
girl like Gladys Brown.” 

“ But I am not jealous.” Nancy bent to- 
ward her anxiously. “ I have reasoned it all 
out. If I were jealous of Gladys I would not 
stand up for her, would I? Didn’t you notice 
how I said she is bright in her studies, and 
nobody knows anything against her? Don’t 
you think that proves I am not jealous? It is 
contemptible to be jealous. I don’t want to 


204 When yean and I Were Sophomores 

keep Jean all to myself. I love to have her 
happy even if I am not with her. It isn’t 
because I am selfish and jealous. It isn’t that. 
Do you think it is that, Evanna? I am not 
really jealous, only — only — if I could only be 

sure ” 

“ Sure of what? ” 

Nancy moistened her lips. 

“ If I could only be sure she likes me best. 
If I could only be sure of that, I wouldn’t 

mind how much — how much ” 

“ Um,” commented Evanna, “ I see,” 
though all she saw with her physical eye was 
the back of a drooping brown head. “ We-el,” 
she murmured reflectively, propping her chin 
on her hand, “ if that is what you want to find 
out, why not ask her? ” 

Nancy shook her head. Evanna, studying 
it thoughtfully, had a momentary vision of 
Miss Brown’s untidy locks above a careless 
collar. 

“ No need to ask her. Nobody in her senses 
could possibly prefer that girl to you. It is 
silly to worry about anything of the sort.” 

“ I want to be sure,” whispered Nancy’s 
forlorn voice. 


The First Choice in Doubles 205 

Evanna meditated in the same posture as 
that last described, namely, her chin on her 
hand, until a swift recollection of last week’s 
English class impelled her to substitute her 
brow for her chin in its position upon her fist. 
( Our English instructor had suggested that, in 
observing characters for our next theme, we 
might notice that the more spiritual natures 
support the brow, the more material the chin. 
So Evanna changed as soon as she remem- 
bered.) 

“ Let’s think up some scheme of testing 
her,” proposed Evanna. 

“ How? ” 

While she meditated some more, her hand 
slipped down again to her chin before she 
noticed and sent it climbing back to its nobler 
task of propping her right temple. She was 
afraid that maybe her nature was very low 
indeed if she could think hardest only when 
clutching her chin. 

Presently she inquired: “Do you want to 
know whether you care more for Jean than 
Gladys, or Gladys more for Jean than you, or 
Jean more for you than Gladys, or you more 
for ?” 


206 When Jean and I Were Sophomores 

“ I want to be sure that Jean wants to room 
with me next year. I know that she would 
not tell me if she is tired of it for fear of hurt- 
ing my feelings. I want to be sure.” 

“ Let me think,” said Evanna. 

She decided that she could think faster if 
she should lay her head down on a pillow in 
order that the blood might flow more readily 
to her brain and thus increase the rush of ideas. 
Of course she went to sleep, having stayed up 
late the preceding night to look up the list of 
sophomore singles — or rather, singles for the 
incoming junior class, which means us — and 
try to calculate which ones would be left by 
the time number thirty-three should be called 
to make her choice. 

Fifteen minutes later she sat up, dazedly 
aware of the clamor of a gong in the corridor. 
Nancy, who had been reviewing her French 
and wondering how long she ought to let 
Evanna sleep, asked if any ideas had rushed. 

Evanna slid off the couch very rapidly in- 
deed for her. 

“You little jnckaninny! ” she exclaimed, 
which was almost swearing when emphasized 
as she did it. “ You knew I have a recitation 


The First Choice in Doubles 207 

this hour. And yet you never poked me once. 
I reckon I shan’t tell you a thought ” 

“Hoi” jeered Nancy. “That is because 
you didn’t have one. You fell asleep the mo- 
ment you touched that pillow.” 

Thus spurred and goaded, Evanna stopped 
with her hand on the knob to prove that she 
had remained awake long enough to have three 
ideas. 

“ If you want to find out how much Jean 
cares, test her to see which of you she would 
ask to make a sacrifice. Or else try to dis- 
cover which she would rescue if both you and 
Gladys were in danger. The third test ” 

Nancy interrupted her. 

“ But I have tried those two and they won’t 
work. One of the seniors gave Jean two 
seats for a hall play, telling her to invite a 
friend.” 

“ Did it take her long to choose between you 
and Gladys?” 

“ She invited us both and stayed home her- 
self. Neither of us knew she had done it till 
we were shown down different aisles to the 
seats. Gladys seemed to consider it a joke, 
but I did not enjoy the evening one bit. I 


208 When Jean and I Were Sophomores 

knew Jean had been wild to see that play. 
And there it was too late to go to get her. So 
that test is no good.” 

“ The second one ? ” 

Nancy would not let herself chuckle at the 
memory, because she was feeling unhappy, you 
know. 

She said: “ One day the three of us met a 
cow, and Jean did not rescue either of us. She 
ran.” 

Evanna laughed herself out of the door, then 
thrust back her head to call: “ The third test 
is the vital one. Does Jean confide the same 
secrets to Gladys as to you? I am sure she 
doesn’t, but does she? That will settle the 
whole thing. Watch her now. Good-bye. 
Be good! ” And she was gone. (I think she 
was probably late for her class. She gen- 
erally is.) 

That evening Evanna overtook Nancy on 
her way back to the dormitory after chapel 
service. It did not look natural for her to be 
walking alone. 

“ How did the third test go? ” inquired 
Evanna, tucking Nancy’s arm through hers, 
though the difference in their respective heights 


7 "he First Choice in Doubles 209 

made adjustment of steps a little uncomfort- 
able. 

“ How should I know what secrets Jean tells 
Gladys? ” rejoined Nancy in a tone that 
sounded a note of fretfulness because she had 
been worrying all day. “And anyhow Jean 
hasn’t any secrets. She does not talk about 
her own affairs. She listens,” Nancy checking 
herself added conscientiously, “ except when 
she has something to say.” 

“ Now, honey,” protested Evanna, “ you- 
all cyan’t make me believe that Jean has been 
talking to you steady for two years without 
telling you a secret. There’s not a girl in col- 
lege who hasn’t some sort of a secret that she 
confides only in her best friend. Think back, 
honey.” 

Nancy thought back. 

“ Yes,” she assented slowly, “ she did tell me 
something once that occurred when she was at 
boarding-school. She happened to find me 
crying over a note from the Latin instructor. 
I felt as if I could never hold up my head 
again, though it wasn’t all my fault. I wanted 
to go home and hide. Then Jean told me 
about this affair at boarding-school — how she 


210 When "Jean and I Were Sophomores 

thought she was disgraced for life, though 
really nobody else minded much. You know 
how it is when you are mortified over some 
break — just a blunder, you understand — noth- 
ing actually wrong. But you feel awful.” 

“ Worse than that,” agreed Evanna mourn- 
fully. 

“ It meant a lot to her to tell even me. 
Nothing else could have helped me so much, 
because I saw that she had lived through it 
and was happy again, you know. Still she 
did hate to tell it.” 

Evanna wriggled her shoulders as if uncom- 
fortable. 

“ Stop it,” she groaned. “ Here you-all go 
and dangle your old secrets in front of me; 
and even if somebody should come running 
right up and offer to tell it, I would have to 
shut my ears. It isn’t polite even to guess.” 

“ It certainly is not,” exclaimed Nancy, 
well-nigh appalled, so to speak, over the way 
she had almost betrayed a confidence. “ You 
must not even remember that there is any 
secret. I am going indoors this instant.” 

She started toward the dormitory, in a hurry 
to escape from so dangerous a companion as 


The First Choice in Doubles 


211 


Evanna, who was always making her talk too 
much. Emerson says that a friend must not 
be too sympathetic, or words to that effect. 

Before Nancy had taken many steps, all of 
them rapid, Evanna rushed after her and 
clutched her elbow. 

“Look!” she whispered. “There beyond 
the evergreens. Do you see somebody moving 
in the shadow? By the second window from 
the end. There, it is somebody trying to peek 
in beneath the curtain. She is stooping down. 
Can’t you see her? ” 

“ Yes,” answered Nancy, straining her eyes 
to make out the slinking figure. “ Maybe it is 
her own room.” 

Evanna grunted. 

“ Maybe the next window belongs to her 
own room, too. And the next. Just watch 
her go snooping along. I can’t believe that it 
is one of the students. It couldn’t possibly be 
one of the students. They don’t do such 
things.” 

“ It is Gladys Brown,” said Nancy. 

Evanna did not say a word. 

“ I knew she was that kind,” murmured 
Nancy. “ I knew she was that kind.” Even 


2 1 2 W hen Jean and I Were Sophomores 

to her own ears her voice had a queer ring in it 
as if she was glad. 

Evanna straightened up. (She had been 
bending forward to watch that girl go sneaking 
from window to window in the dark.) 

“ I am going to tell Jean/' she said, and went 
stalking on ahead. 

For as much as ten seconds Nancy did 
not stir. Then she caught her breath and 
ran. 

“ Evanna, oh, no, no, you mustn’t ! Evanna, 
you mustn’t tell Jean. It wouldn’t be fair. 
Jean likes her. They’re friends. We have 
no right to meddle and tell tales. I would not 
listen to anybody who tried to tell me tales 
about Jean. Jean likes her. We have no 
right to meddle.” She paused, caught her 
breath again. “ Do you think we have any 
right to meddle, Evanna? ” 

“ I don’t call it meddling,” answered 
Evanna, setting each foot down with a thump 
as she kept on moving. “ I call it being kind 
to Jeanie. It is right down wicked to let Jean 
mix herself up with a girl of that sort. 
Everybody will believe that they are birds of 
a feather. It will queer her entire college 


The First Choice in Doubles 213 

career, probably her whole life. It is our duty 
to warn her in time.” 

The soft light of the vestibule showed 
Nancy’s face glowing with a new brightness. 
(I think it glowed; anyhow it felt warm.) 

“ Are you sure you ought to tell Jean? ” she 
faltered. “ That isn’t all, you know. I’ve 
seen that girl do other things that are not — not 
nice. She reads other persons’ letters, glanc- 
ing out of the corners of her eyes. Once she 
came in when Jean was not home, and copied 
her Latin prose sentences, and never told her 
about it. I was afraid that Jean might think 
I was jealous if I said anything. Do you 
think I am jealous? ” 

“ Not of that girl,” replied Evanna in ex- 
actly the right tone. “ When I think of that 
girl flaunting around with one of our diplomas 
some time, I could hop up and down. A cheat 
and a sneak! ” 

On their way down the corridor Nancy be- 
gan to go more and more slowly. At the foot 
of the staircase she halted. 

“ It seems mean to tell,” she said. 

“ It does not seem so to me,” declared 
Evanna, and marched on up. At the first 


214 W hen "Jean and I JVere Sophomores 

landing she paused to see if Nancy really was 
not coming. She had not budged from her 
place at the newel post. Behind her the corri- 
dor stretched out empty except for one girl. 

The expression on Evanna’s face made 
Nancy turn to look. Gladys Brown was glid- 
ing toward her, pussy-footed, smiling, soci- 
able. 

“ Girls, you ought to stroll up and down 
near the dormitory some evening, and see what 
you can see. Little idiots not to draw their 
curtains down close! I saw a junior translat- 
ing with a pony. I saw a graduate fellow 
mending her stockings. Big holes, too! I 
saw a freshman saying good-bye to Jean, our 
admirable Jean, who never encourages senti- 
mentality. She kept backing away, while the 
freshman followed, waving her handkerchief 
and making moist dives toward Jean’s neck. 
Poor old Jean! She is such a softie! ” 

Evanna seemed to fly down the stairs. 

“ A what? ” she ejaculated, but not very 
loud, because when she is angry she speaks 
more gently than ever. Nancy was breathing 
too fast to say anything. 

“ Oh, soft is no word for it. Jean is a 


The First Choice in Doubles 


215 


regular mush when she is sorry for anybody. 
She will do anything to jolly up a mourner. 
She will even tell that story of how she was 
almost expelled from boarding-school ” 

Nancy’s hand caught the banister. 

“ Jean — told — you — that? ” 

Gladys raised her eyebrows. 

“No wonder you cannot believe she could be 
so foolish ! Catch me ever confessing such an 
humiliating experience! Absolutely unneces- 
sary, too. One day while the two of us were 
up in the infirmary with tonsilitis, we traded 
secrets. Mine were not nearly so mortifying 
as Jean’s.” 

Nancy went swiftly up the stairs without 
stumbling once till she was out of sight around 
the bend. Evanna followed almost as fast. 
But instead of holding to the banisters as 
Nancy did, Evanna used her hand to keep her 
jaws closed tight. She was afraid she might 
say something impolite if she opened her 
mouth. 

Evanna found Nancy standing at the win- 
dow in her dark little bedroom. After 
snapping on the light in the study, so that she 
would not trip over things, she went and laid 


2 1 6 W hen "Jean and I W ere Sophomores 

her arm across Nancy’s shoulders. Stars were 
shining above the evergreens. 

“ I wish Jean would come,” said Evanna. 
“ I reckon she will be right interested.” 

Nancy’s throat hurt, though it was not sore 
at all. Evanna saw her touch it with her 
fingers. 

“ Wait till I get a chance to tell old Jeanie 
a thing or two about her precious Gladys! 
You need not say a word, Nancy, honey. I’m 
near bursting this moment. There won’t be 
even any pieces left when I get through.” 

Nancy said, “ It doesn’t matter, now. Jean 
likes her best.” 

Evanna’s grunt sounded awfully disgusted. 

“ Don’t insult Jean, honey. You’ve gone 
daffy over that white trash girl. Jeanie has 
some sense, I reckon.” 

The window-pane felt cool against Nancy’s 
hot forehead. 

“ J ean likes her best. She has liked her best 
ever since they were in the infirmary together. 
She tells her secrets and everything. I know 
that she wants to room with her next year.” 

“ Ugh,” remarked Evanna twice. 

Nancy did not listen to these comments. 


' The First Choice in Doubles 217 

She was thinking about how Jean liked Gladys 
best. She forgot that she ought to be glad 
that J ean had found a friend. She said some 
of her thoughts aloud. 

“ Jean likes Gladys best. I want her to 
like me best. Emerson says there is always 
compensation. But I don’t want compensa- 
tion. I don’t want another friend. I want 
Jean. I want to room with her next year.” 

Evanna said, “ It will be all right, honey, 
after I tell Jean about everything. She hates 

anything crooked. She’ll drop that girl ” 

“ No,” said Nancy, “ you must not tell her. 
It isn’t fair.” 

After a silent moment Evanna began with 
another snort. 

“ All right, then. While you are being so 
noble about everything, why not give Gladys 
your first choice in doubles so that she and Jean 
can room together next year? ” 

“ I am going to,” answered Nancy. 
Evanna’s jaw fell partly open. Then she 
closed it so that she could shout, “ What! ” 

“ I am going to give Gladys my first choice 
in doubles so that she and Jean can choose the 
best room of all the list for next year.” 


218 W hen "Jean and I Were Sophomores 

Evanna sat down on the floor. As she was 
a tall person, the floor was such a considerable 
distance away that she could not scramble to 
her feet in time to catch Nancy. Darting 
through the bedroom into the study, she was 
just two seconds too late to prevent Nancy’s 
escape into the corridor. Snatching open the 
door, she dashed in pursuit. 

A stumble on the stairway, though followed 
by a quick recovery, delayed her a moment 
longer. The revolving doors at the entrance 
trapped her for almost a quarter of a minute 
while two mischievous juniors persisted in 
pushing through the contrary way. When at 
last she reached the outside air, she spied 
Nancy, an indistinct blur of white, speeding in 
the direction of the dormitory where Gladys 
Brown lived. 

Swiftly ran Nancy, winged by the fear that 
she might change her mind before she had 
finished being noble. She was at the entrance, 
her hand stretched toward the knob, her figure 
braced to pull open the heavy door. And 
suddenly she heard Evanna scream. 

Evanna, though usually so indolent and low 
voiced, could scream very effectively indeed. 


The First Choice in Doubles 219 

More than one girl studying beyond the lighted 
windows, or strolling through the soft May 
darkness, heard the vibrant cry and started in 
alarm. But it was Nancy who reached her 
first. Jean happened to be the second flying 
form to stoop over the prostrate body on a 
cushion of spruce needles in the blackness be- 
low the drooping branches of the tree, which 
Evanna had selected for her dramatic coup 
(meaning blow , deed , or trick). 

Without a word Evanna put out a hand to 
each of the rescuers, and wriggled to her feet. 
A flurry of other heroines and two heroes (one 
being the elevator-man and the other a watch- 
man) seemed to be approaching. 

“ Let’s run,” said Evanna, and immediately 
ran, dragging the two girls after her till far 
enough away to turn around and pretend to be 
hastening toward the scene of disturbance. 
But Jean pulled her arm free before they met 
anybody, and balked. 

“ I don’t understand,” she said. “ Why did 
you scream?” 

“ Because I wished to stop Nancy before 
she could find Gladys,” answered Evanna, 
very patient and sweet. (Nancy was glad 


220 When Jean and I W zre Sophomores 

that Evanna kept her arm around her, be- 
cause she felt like leaning against somebody.) 

“ You wished to stop Nancy! ” gasped Jean. 
“ And so you shrieked as if you were being 
murdered! ” 

“ Well,” explained Evanna, more patient 
than ever, “ I reckon if you-all knew what she 
was aiming to do, you would shriek too.” 

Nancy pinched her hard, and said, “ Hush! ” 

“ What was she going to do? ” asked Jean, 
brushing one hand across her forehead as if be- 
wildered, though really she did it only to 
smooth her hair and push in the pins that had 
slipped half out when Evanna dragged her 
helter-skelter away from pursuit. 

“Ouch!” exclaimed Evanna, and jerked 
her arm from around Nancy. “ Of all the 
ungrateful ” 

“ Jean, listen! ” broke in Nancy in stammer- 
ing hurry. “ I was running to find Gladys in 
order to give her my first choice in doubles so 
that she can room with you next year and — 
and ” 

“Room with me!” cried astonished Jean. 
“ But I don’t want her to room with me. I 
want to room with you. I don’t like Gladys 


*The First Choice in Doubles 221 

Brown. And anyhow, she won’t be here next 
year.” 

“ Hear that, Nancy, honey? ” chuckled 
Evanna. “ Now will you believe me next time 
when I say that Jeanie has some sense? ” 

“ But, Jean,” began Nancy, “ you acted as 
if you liked her best. You told her things.” 

“ Of course I had to be kind to her,” said 
Jean. “ While we were in the infirmary she 
confided all her troubles to me, and I tried to 
encourage her and cheer her up. I wanted to 
help. She has been lonely here. I did my 
best. But, oh, Nancy, I am so glad that she 
won’t come back next year. She has such a 
crooked mind. I like people who are straight.” 

Nancy cleared her throat, and winked once 
or twice. Jean leaned nearer to see her face. 

“Why, Nancy!” she cried, dismayed, “I 
thought of course you understood.” 

Nancy reached out both hands to her. 

“ Let’s go to pick out our double,” she said. 

Evanna tagged along behind. She said she 
did not mind. 


XI 


THE MYSTERIOUS FRESHMAN 

Every year along toward May the senior 
class publishes a college annual containing 
jokes and names and photographs and songs 
and some literature. This spring Jean and I 
were especially interested in the book, because 
Jean was in a picture of the sophomore basket- 
ball team, and also because our names were on 
more club lists than when we were freshmen. 
Another reason was because we neither of us 
knew how many of our contributions had been 
accepted for the literary section. Naturally, 
therefore, we both began to be excited when 
we read on the bulletin-board a new notice an- 
nouncing that the Senior Annual would be on 
sale after chapel. It was almost dinner time 
then. 

While Jean was rushing around, trying to 
borrow a dollar so as to be ready to buy a copy 
222 


! The Mysterious Freshman 223 

at the earliest possible moment (it was the end 
of the month), I sauntered down the corridor 
past the room where the sale was to be held. 
When the door swung open a moment to admit 
a senior, I caught a glimpse of big wooden 
boxes and girls with hatchets. I heard the 
nails squeak as the top boards were ripped off. 
It looked as if they were having fun. 

All through dinner Evanna behaved in an 
unusually peculiar manner, even for her. She 
refused to explain why she kept looking at 
Jean and smiling at the corners of her mouth. 
All she would say was that Margaret V. 
Adams had showed her a copy of the Annual, 
and it was far and away the best one ever pub- 
lished at this college. Then she grinned at 
Jean again and inquired if it would make a girl 
famous to be put into a story. 

Of course we did not know what she meant 
until we had a chance to read the Annual our- 
selves. And what do you suppose? In it 
there was an anonymous story about a fresh- 
man almost exactly like Jean. Some of the 
incidents really happened here last year, al- 
though changed a little in being handled as 
fiction. For instance, Jean declares that she 


224 When yean and I Were Sophomores 

never ate that chestnut, and she did not actually 
associate so much with any senior as the author 
implies. Evanna won’t tell us who wrote it. 
But we know anyhow. It was Margaret V. 
Adams. Jean is sure of it, even though she 
never in her life flung her arm across a senior’s 
shoulders. 

I think Jean likes to be called mysterious, as 
in the title: 

The Mysterious Freshman 

I 

In the freshman class this year is a girl who 
puzzles me. In spite of the frivolous way in 
which she goes laughing through the busy col- 
lege day (she looks pretty well when she 
laughs) she impresses me as a naturally joyous 
temperament overshadowed by some impend- 
ing calamity. In chapel, nestling up into a 
corner of the pew, she watches everything with 
deep solemn eyes. I often notice her linger- 
ing with a hopeless face outside the algebra 
class-room. Something that happened to-day 
has strengthened my suspicions. 

As I was strolling around the garden in the 
shadow of the evergreens, contemplating the 


7 'he Mysterious Freshman 225 

new moon above the fading sunset glow, there 
was a sound of quick breathing, a soft swish of 
pine needles, and something in a kilted skirt 
and sweater darted to my side. “ Oh,” panted 
a girl’s voice, “ I am so glad to find you alone! 
Perhaps — you did not understand — how it 
happened. — But — when I tell you — it is 
hereditary, — you will help me. — I will try, — I 
will work. — No one must know.” 

“ I beg your pardon.” 

“ Oh ! ” Her face flashed around into mine, 
and blazed with swift color. “ I thought you 
were somebody else.” 

II 

I was leaning out of my window trying to 
decide whether the earth’s satellite was two- 
thirds or three-quarters full, and reflecting that 
in my freshman year I would rapturously have 
written in my diary, “ A glorious moon sailing 
aloft in the dark blue sky is turning the little 
clouds to silver.” At that time, also, I used to 
rave over the “splendor of womanhood ” and 
“ this white, beautiful world now I occasion- 
ally allude to the college woman or mention the 
fact that it has been snowing. 


226 When Jean and I W ere Sophomores 

As I was beginning to blush at the recollec- 
tion of those unsalted days, I heard that 
athletic girl’s gym shoes race up to my door. 
She burst in with such a waste of valuable 
energy that I felt like collapsing into the near- 
est chair to emphasize repose of manner. (I 
fear she has not yet learned to save superfluous 
vigor for examination week.) 

“ I beg your pardon,” she cried, “ but have 
you anything good to eat — jelly, or olives or 
crackers? If I grow much hungrier I shall get 
desperately blue.” 

There is a point. The very fact that she 
connects so early in her college career a physical 
state with a mental attitude argues an ab- 
normal intelligence. I wonder if that heredi- 
tary blight, which she mentioned so inad- 
vertently the first time we met, has anything 
to do with the brain. Her choice of articles 
for consumption certainly is a proof of mental 
obliquity — j elly, olives, crackers ! At the table 
she never takes rice pudding, and for breakfast 
she eats sugar with a little oatmeal under it. 

She has an engagement with some senior 
three times a week. Probably it is to make 
fudges. 


The Mysterious Freshman 227 
ill 

That girl is positively shallow. I cannot 
see why everybody insists on liking her, unless 
it is because of her attitude toward life. (The 
aim of the college course is to teach criticism of 
the world, others, and ourselves. She has 
barely begun the lesson.) 

This afternoon she caught up to me in the 
corridor, and flung her arm boy-fashion over 
my shoulders — my shoulders ! — my senior 
shoulders! — (and I believe in individuals walk- 
ing like separate personalities, each surrounded 
with its own untouched atmosphere) . A ques- 
tioning smile concealed the wonder if she could 
feel the calcium hardening in my bones. She 
said, “ I am blue; the remedy is nature. Take 
me to see the sun set.” 

I did so. As I stood somewhat apart from 
her on the hilltop, a volume of Browning open 
in my hands, I saw her — while the sun was 
setting in floods of gold above the blue hills — 
I saw her take a chestnut out of her pocket and 
pensively eat it. A chestnut! 

On the way home she said, “ What did it 
make you think of? I thought all the time, 
let X equal the number of sunsets from now 


228 W hen "Jean and I U^ere Sophomores 

until the first Saturday in December. And 
then I seemed to feel the formula: One divided 
by infinity is zero/’ 

Struck with the poetry of her thought, I 
tried to forget that chestnut. 

“ Yes,” she went on meditatively, “ one 
equals me, infinity equals the amount of study 
I must do; zero equals the result of the ex- 
aminations.” 

I looked at her. 

“ And then I wondered,” she continued, “ if 
the ice-cream to-night would be chocolate or 
apricot. The flight of time always reminds 
me of weekly ice-cream.” 

I cannot help hoping that the chestnut was 
wormy — just a little wormy. 

IV 

That girl came rushing into my room like 
a — like a person with a firm hold on life — on 
physical life — and dragged me out to skate. 

“ You are morbid! ” she exclaimed. (Mor- 
bid!) “ You have been writing poetry, haven’t 
you, now? I see it in the way you look out 
of your eyes. Come, exercise is the remedy 
for morbid blues.” 


The Mysterious Freshman 229 

There is something taking about that girl. 
(I do not know whether it is because she has 
not yet learned to mount neat cross-sections of 
her heart under a mental microscope, or 
whether it is because she looks so well in her 
gym suit. ) I watched her skate — every move- 
ment instinct with life, — the red of her cap 
catching the tint of her cheeks, her eyes reflect- 
ing the blue of the sky, and sunny curls blowing 
(curls are by no means intellectual). I pon- 
dered over her hereditary mystery. She cer- 
tainly has no physical defects. 

When my ankles were tired I stood near the 
ashes of last night’s bonfire, and tried to 
imagine the history of each blackened brand. 

“ Think of the green, living tree this was 
once,” I began, “ with birds singing in its 
branches, and leaves dancing on its limbs, and 
breezes whispering to it ! And now — look ! ” 

“ Make it a tense of momentary action,” she 
broke in. “ Come, skate down the lake with 
me. I am the cure for sentimental blues.” 

Sentimental ! — I — sentimental ! ! — I — senti- 
mental! ! ! 

On the whole, I believe that athletic girl is 
mentally defective. 


130 W hen Jean and I W ire Sophomores 

V 

I have misjudged that girl. When she re- 
fused to go to the asylum for the insane (she 
calls it insane asylum — so inaccurate in her use 
of words!) with the class in social science, I 
thought she was afraid of the deep problems of 
life. She said that the “ institution smell of 
sud-soaked floors ” made her blue, and she was 
out of the remedy for that variety — sweet 
violets. She has never shown a scholarly atti- 
tude toward the broadening of mental horizons. 
I left her in a chaos of paper and pencil, a ? s 
and y* s, addition, subtraction, multiplication 
and division. She appears devoted to mathe- 
matics. 

The asylum made me decide to demonstrate 
to that girl the inexcusableness of blues at any 
other place. One woman was pacing back and 
forth, her hands clasped behind her, her head 
dropped on her breast. As I happened to pull 
out my handkerchief, my tin spoon fell to the 
floor. I had slipped it into my pocket that 
morning when I found that girl using it to 
scrape sugar out of a candy-pan. At the 
tinkle of its fall the woman stopped short, then 
darted to the spoon and picked it up. She 


The Mysterious Freshman 231 

glanced at it, and then at me, and her eyes 
looked as that girl’s do when she is trying to 
calculate the purchasing power of her month’s 
allowance. Finally she said: “ Give me the 
spoon. It reminds me of home.” 

I thought of the initials scratched on the 
spoon, and of all they meant to me; then I 
looked at the long, sunless corridors, the dull 
eyes, the heavy faces, and realizing the hopeless 
lives, I gave her the spoon. 

She smiled, — and suddenly I understood; — 
the same smile — only wrinkled, the same eyes — 
only shifting. That girl’s hereditary blight ! 

VI 

That girl has not sufficient mental ability to 
manage the conduct of life without moral 
standards. When she read the first chapter 
in my senior ethics (old moral standards are 
demolished in that chapter, and new ones are 
constructed in the last), she straightway lost 
all regard for authority and order — even for 
the breakfast gong. That is what spoiled my 
trip to New York — that irresponsibility of 
hers. 

On that morning the senior who had intended 


232 When Jean and I W ire Sophomores 

to go to the theatre with me was taken ill; so I 
asked that athletic girl to go in her place. At 
the station she bought a local newspaper in- 
stead of studying character (she is so neglect- 
ful of grand opportunities for self-culture!) . 
The through express had thundered to a vibrat- 
ing pause, and we had found a seat on the river 
side of the car. We were comfortably settled 
with no perceptible breeze ruffling our hair, and 
the curtain just high enough. That girl 
glanced at the paper, then darted out of the 
car, and dashed through the waiting-room. 
The train pulled out. I looked at the page she 
had scanned. In bold lines, I saw: “ Escape 
of Five Insane Patients.” 

Instantly I comprehended — that insane 
woman — escape — that athletic girl. The poor 
child! The thought of her troubled me all 
day. I had given her both our theatre tickets 
to carry. 

YII 

I am never blue. Occasionally I realize that 
nothing is worth the trouble it costs; at such 
times I dress in my most becoming clothes. 
It is a well-known fact that each individual is 


The Mysterious Freshman 233 

born into this world to cherish and watch over 
his own precious self. By making himself as 
sweet and agreeable as possible, therefore, he 
puts himself into better relations with life. 

At twilight I was out walking — in my best 
clothes. To-day’s newspaper contained an 
account of the capture of the escaped insane 
patients, and a description of the key that one 
of them had made out of a tin spoon and clock 
wire. As I plodded around the garden I saw 
that girl dancing a horn-pipe on a pile of dry 
leaves. She darted up to me and flung both 
arms around my best collar. 

“ Oh! ” she cried. “ I got through. I got 
through all right.” 

I walked on, waiting for further develop- 
ments. She skipped along at my side. (Ex- 
pression of emotion is essentially undignified. ) 

“ What if I had not seen the date on that 
paper Saturday? ” she rattled. “ I had for- 
gotten. I reached the college just in time.” 

“ In time for what? ” 

“ The second examination in entrance math. 
And I got through! I got through! No 
more tutor for me! My father never could do 
mathematics. He can’t now. It is an heredi- 


234 When "Jean and I Were Sophomores 

tary blight. But I got through! I got 
through! 

Here’s to good old college, 

For ’tis there we get our knowledge. 

And good-bye, good-bye, good-bye 
To entrance math ! ” 

She disappeared in a whirl of twinkling feet 
and breezy hair. 

Well — haven’t I always suspected her of a 
mental deficiency? 


P. S. Jean does not know whether to be 
mad or not. 


XII 


THE TYRANT 

This is a story that I wrote during the 
Christmas vacation. Though I have disguised 
the characters by changing their names (ex- 
cept Jean) , I have decided not to publish it at 
present. One reason is because Jean is afraid 
that the original of Anne and her sister would 
rather not be put into this kind of a plot, even 
if it is partly true. The other reason is be- 
cause Margaret V. Adams returned the manu- 
script to me with a note saying that the maga- 
zine was over-supplied with fiction just now. 

The first scene of the story opens at college 
on a Sunday afternoon. 

Anne was writing letters. All the girls at 
college wrote letters on Sunday afternoon, and 
most of them were letters home. Anne, how- 
ever, was not writing home, for she had no 
family except her younger sister, who was a 
freshman that year. The two sisters roomed 
together. 


235 


236 When "Jean andlW zre Sophomores 

The letter began: “ I wish you could see 
Una this year. She is prettier than ever and 
growing more popular all the time. I believe 
she has a good chance to be invited to join 
Proteus, which is an informal little club of the 
most attractive girls here.” When Anne’s 
pen had reached this point, Una herself, 
dressed for outdoors, entered the study from 
her bedroom. 

Anne spoke without lifting her head: 
“ Don’t forget that we are going to vespers 
with Elizabeth Hayes and her crowd at four 
o’clock.” 

Una stopped short. “ We are! That’s the 
first I’ve heard of it.” 

“ They are the girls whom I particularly 
wish you to meet,” said Anne, evidently deem- 
ing her omission to consult her sister an entirely 
natural proceeding. “ The friendships formed 
this first semester will have a tremendous in- 
fluence on your life here and possibly later. 
These girls are members of Proteus.” 

Her face, turned away from Una, fell into a 
moment’s bitterness at memory of her own 
disappointment where admission to this de- 
sirable circle had been concerned. The next 


2 37 


! The Tyrant 

minute her mouth straightened from its droop 
of personal failure to lines clean-cut with reso- 
lution. Una should win what she herself had 
missed. Una should have the best and the 
finest — that is, whatever was best and finest 
according to Anne’s estimation. 

“ Four o’clock,” she repeated. “ Be sure to 
remember. It is most important. Elizabeth 
Hayes is especially valuable to know.” 

Una moistened her lips. “ But Mary 
Bissell asked me to go walking with her at 
four.” 

Anne did not take the trouble to turn her 
head. “ Well, I’m sorry, but of course you 
can explain that I have made another engage- 
ment for you.” 

Una shifted her weight to the other foot. 
“ Mary wants me to go pretty bad. She is 
lonely.” 

“ That is out of the question.” The older 
sister shrugged imperious shoulders. “ She 
can wait for another day. By the way, who is 
this Mary Bissell? ” 

Una looked a little frightened. She was 
bigger than Anne in every way and prettier, 
with a certain childishness in her soft curves 


238 When Jean and I W zre Sophomores 

and baby mouth that told perhaps of repressed 
development in character. Anne had always 
decided everything for her. Now she hesi- 
tated so long before answering that Anne, as- 
suming that the matter was settled as usual, 
picked up her pen to go on with her letter. 

Then Una mustered her courage. 

“ Mary is a freshman, one of my friends. 
She’s — had a hard time since she entered col- 
lege. She isn’t like the other girls. She never 
laughs. She isn’t happy at home — and she 
isn’t happy here. She wasn’t well prepared. 
You don’t understand how discouraging it is 
to carry conditions in the entrance exams. 
The other girls don’t understand what a — what 
a — temptation it was ” Una swallowed. 

“ Never mind.” Anne was already half- 
way through a sentence, careless of listening. 
“ Run and tell her that you can’t go walking 
to-day. Don’t waste time because I am par- 
ticularly anxious to have you make a good 
impression this afternoon. Your dark blue 
voile and the velvet bandeau will be becoming. 
Run along now and get it over with. I’ll help 
with your hair.” 

Una pinched her hands together nervously. 


2 39 


T“he Tyrant 

“ But, Anne, I promised to go with her. 
She is lonely. She is awfully blue. I am 
afraid to let her go out alone. Something 
might happen. She says she does not want to 
live any longer. I am the only friend she has. 
I’ve got to go with her. She is feeling so ter- 
ribly about that trouble in math. You wouldn’t 
blame her if you understood. It wasn’t all her 
fault. She did not mean to cheat ” 

Anne swung around in her chair, an expres- 
sion of incredulous dismay on her resolute face. 

“ Do you mean that freshman who was al- 
most suspended for cheating in examination? 
Her name was Mary Bissell — now I remem- 
ber. The idea of her daring to impose herself 
on you! Una, Una, won’t you ever learn dis- 
crimination? Even in the kindergarten you 
used to pick out all the raggedest little girls to 
bring home with you. But I thought you did 
draw the line at cheats.” 

Una hung her head. “ Mary’s sorry,” she 
stammered; “ she’s awfully sorry. She didn’t 
mean to cheat. But — but — oh, you don’t un- 
derstand. You can’t sympathize with a girl 
who gets nervous and forgets everything she 
has learned, and the hands keep going round 


240 When Jean and I Were Sophomores 

the clock, and the paper lies there before her 
all blank, and she can’t possibly think of the 
right figures — and then suddenly right there 
on another girl’s pad she sees it! And her 
brain keeps whirling round and round. Oh, 
Anne, you don’t know how terrible it is! 
You’re not stupid like Mary Bissell and 
me.” 

“Mary Bissell and you!” gasped Anne. 
“ Don’t associate yourself with her even in a 
phrase. Not for anything in the world would 
I have you related to her in the remotest degree 
in anybody’s mind. It would be fatal to your 
reputation.” 

“ But she is sorry,” protested Una faintly, 
struggling to cling to her convictions before 
this avalanche of indignation. “ Doesn’t it do 
any good to be sorry? The faculty gave her 
another chance.” 

“ Humph, so do I give her another chance. 
Forty chances! And of course I am sorry for 
her and hope she will succeed in living it down. 
But I certainly shall not permit my own sister 
to sacrifice her whole career to such mistaken 
Quixotism. Run along, Una, and explain to 
her that you can’t go walking.” 


241 


The Tyrant 

“ But I promised! ” exclaimed Una. 

“ It wasn’t really a promise, because you did 
not know that I had made a previous engage- 
ment for you. Run along quickly and hurry 
back in time to put on your voile for the music. 
I want you to make your very best impression 
this afternoon.” 

“ I promised,” repeated Una. 

“ Nonsense! It was a mistake, not a prom- 
ise. I know I am right. You are continually 
making blunders. You have no judgment, no 
perception of proportion, no common sense. 
You must trust me to arrange this affair for 
you.” 

Una stood with her hand on the door-knob, 
and her head turned away so that Anne could 
not see how her chin quivered. The quiver, 
however, was only in the muscles on the sur- 
face; the contour of the bony framework be- 
neath hinted of a nature dependably stubborn 
when once roused. 

“ She is lonesome,” said Una very low. 

Anne threw out her arms in a passionate 
gesture of contempt for such unreasonableness. 

“ You talk like an idiot. At times when you 
are so utterly and inconceivably irrational I 


242 When Jean and I Were Sophomores 

think there must be something the matter with 
your brain.” 

Una gave her one look. Then the door 
swung open, clicked shut; she was gone, leav- 
ing Anne with a sense of breathlessness as if 
she had struck a child. She could hear Una’s 
steps retreating down the corridor. Once they 
stumbled. 

“ I wish I hadn’t said that,” she admitted to 
herself, adding in self-justification, for she 
could not bear to feel in the wrong, “ but Una 
can be so exasperating when she tries.” 

At this point Anne brought her foot down 
hard — so hard that if she had been a girl with 
a reputation for uncontrolled emotions it might 
readily be called a stamp. She marched to her 
desk, ended her last letter, signed, folded, 
sealed and tossed it aside. Then choosing from 
her two afternoon frocks the one with more of 
an “ air,” she sought Margaret Hayes, ex- 
plained her sister’s absence, carefully omitting 
the name of the student with whom Una had 
gone walking, and accompanied the desirable 
group to the vesper service. 

Through the hour of music she sat outwardly 
serene, inwardly in a riot of resentment. At 


243 


' The Tyrant 

first she felt a cold, hard anger: let Una go 
then. Let her disregard wisdom and experi- 
ence and disinterested affection. Let her ruin 
her own life in her own way. She deserved it. 
She was ungrateful and disobedient and pig- 
headed. 

Here a swift vision of Una’s face as Anne 
had last seen it, with that astonished hurt 
shrinking as if before an unbelievable blow, 
seemed to clutch at Anne’s throat, making it 
ache. Her eyes smarted with a rush of tears. 
She dug her fingers into the tufted rep of the 
pew cushion, thankful for the fading dusk that 
hid her agitation in the twilit chapel. She had 
no one else in all the world but Una. 

It seemed as if that man would never get 
through playing. Just as soon as he had 
allowed one piece to die away in surging 
deep tones he began another. Time and again 
Anne, eager to escape, poised on the brink of 
the seat with muscles ready, only to sink back 
again as she saw the organist sway this way 
and that to pull out more stops in preparation 
for a new selection. The gas lights above his 
head flickered on his moving arms and sent 
vague shadows trailing off into the gloom of 


244 When Jean and I Were Sophomores 

the aisles. The pale windows showed strips 
of rapidly darkening sky. 

Anne wished that Una had told her in what 
direction they were going. Of course nothing 
could happen, but naturally she would feel 
more at ease if she had some notion where to 
look in case Una should not return in time for 
supper. .Who knew anything about that Bis- 
sell girl, anyhow? She might have compromis- 
ing acquaintances. She might lure Una into 
some risky situation. Or maybe they had 
tramped too far along some snowy road and 
were unable to get back to college that night. 

As this possibility sprang into Anne’s 
imagination she could endure the delay no 
longer. With a faint nod of apology to her 
companions, she hurried out of chapel, un- 
mindful that the quick click-click of her heels 
broke into the middle of a pianissimo passage. 
Her feet kept moving faster and faster till she 
was fairly running when she reached her own 
alleyway. No light in the transom! Her 
heart sank. She flung open the door. No- 
body was there. In the dusk she could see one 
of the windows still partly raised, as she had 
left it in her zeal for fresh air. The door into 


24 5 


The Tyrant 

Una’s room stood wide. An anxious glance 
within revealed no carelessly tossed cap or coat 
or rubbers as trace of return. Anne shivered, 
partly because of the draught from the study 
window. 

At the sound of steps in the passage, she 
lifted her head alertly. An energetic tap, 
however, sent her hopes tottering, for Una 
never knocked at their own door. It was with 
a worried face that she greeted the breezy 
young person who entered. 

“ Jean, have you seen anything of Una? 
She went walking at four and has not come 
back yet.” 

“ At four? But it is only five now. Give 
her time! Give her time! At least, give her 
time enough to turn around. Oh, you are like 
a hen with one chicken where that sister of 
yours is concerned. You’re always fluttering 
about and nagging at her and telling her which 
way to run for crumbs and how to scratch. I 
think she has the sweetest disposition to bear it 
as she does.” 

“ Bear it? ” exclaimed Anne, amazed at this 
strange point of view. 

“Ooh-ooh!” Jean hugged herself. “You 


246 When "Jean and I Were Sophomores 

iceberg ! I swear your window is open and the 
steam heat turned off. I’m glad I don’t room 
with you any more. You nearly froze me that 
year. Poor Una! You buy her clothes and 
choose her studies and advise her what to eat 
at the table. You never let her decide a thing 
for herself. No wonder she has a crushed 
meek air when with you! ” 

“ Crushed? ” echoed Anne. 

“ Sure-ly. Crushed, overwhelmed, obliter- 
ated, dominated. The other day when I asked 
her why she didn’t turn on the heat instead of 
bundling up in a sweater while she read in here, 
she said that you said it was mostly her im- 
agination. Oh, my landie! ” 

“ But, Jean, I am right about ventilation 
and temperature.” Anne was stung by this 
attack to eager explanation. “ Una admits it 
herself since the last lecture in hygiene. I 
dare say she has it all down in her notes.” 
Anne snapped on the light and selecting a par- 
ticular note-book from the pile on the desk 
opened it at the latest written page. “ Come, 
you can read for yourself.” 

J ean’s enterprising glance skipped from the 
main text to the scribbled margin. “ Oho, 


2 47 


The Tyrant 

that little sister of yours writes notes in class. 
This is a regular dialogue in two handwrit- 
ings.” 

Anne’s eyes raced from line to line of the 
penciled conversation. The first sentence was 
in a strange chirography: “ Una, I just looked 
around and found Mary Bissell staring so hard 
at you with her big solemn eyes that it scared 
me. She’s getting thinner and whiter every 
day.” 

Una’s erratic zigzag answered: “ She isn’t 
happy here.” 

The other responded: “ No wonder!” 

Una’s rejoinder splashed drops of ink in her 
haste to the rescue: “Nan Varden, I’m 
ashamed of you and all the other girls who are 
so cruel to a girl like that, lonely and sad and 
frightened. Yes, she is frightened because she 
is so stupid and she knows it. That’s why she 
cheated. Everything she did was wrong in 
class, and she hadn’t a mite of self-confidence 
left. She just had to cheat, yes, she did! Oh, 
no, of course, I don’t mean that, but I know 
exactly how she felt. And now the girls are 
so mean and won’t help her or give her another 
chance, though the faculty said she might try 


248 JVhen Jean and IlVere Sophomores 

again. The girls won’t have anything to do 
with her. Haven’t they a particle of sym- 
pathy? She’s sorry, I tell you. She’s sorry, 
sorry, sorry, and nobody cares.” 

“ What does Anne say? ” 

“ She wouldn’t understand. She never 
makes mistakes. She doesn’t know how it 
feels to blunder along and discover that every- 
thing you do is wrong. Oh, don’t I know? 
You think it is right and then you find out it 
isn’t right at all. And next time you think it 
is right, but you’re afraid maybe it isn’t. And 
after a while you begin to wonder if there isn’t 
something the matter with your brain, or else 
it is different from other brains. You never 
can be sure of your own judgment. Oh, it is 
horrible — that shaky feeling about everything! 
I think it is the meanest thing — the meanest 
crudest thing — to take away anybody’s self- 
confidence.” 

_ “ How? ” 

Una’s scrawl took on a breathless quality. 
“ It does — it certainly does kill a person’s self- 
confidence if she knows that somebody is 
watching her and is ready to jump on any 
tiniest blunder and haul it out to the light of 


The Tyrant 249 

merciless criticism. And so many mistakes 
aren’t real mistakes — they’re only different 
ways of doing things. It’s the meanest, crud- 
est thing ! ” 

A series of reflective curleycues told of medi- 
tation on Nan’s part, finally culminating in 
legible speech: “ The girls say that your sis- 
ter perfectly idolizes you, even if she does 
treat you as if you were about two years 
old.” 

A blank space in the margin here might have 
represented a pause of startled dismay as Una 
confusedly scanned her last paragraph. Her 
next remark concluded the dialogue with a note 
of grave dignity. 

“ Nobody knows how much my sister means 
to me. That is one reason why I am so sorry 
for Mary Bissell. Last summer she recovered 
from scarlet fever to find that her two sisters 
were dead from the same disease. She was 
left all alone. I hope that I shall not live a 
single day longer than my sister.” 

Jean raised her head from bending over the 
book and glanced at Anne from one speculative 
corner of her eye. 

“ Una is a dear.” 


250 When Jean and I W zre Sophomores 

Anne’s eyes had grown brighter than usual 
and she breathed somewhat quickly. “ I wish 
Una had confided more in me about Mary. 
She seems to be getting more and more 
silent ” 

“ Huh! ” interrupted Jean impatiently, “ for 
a person of your intelligence, generally speak- 
ing, I never saw any one duller on some points. 
What’s the use of her being anything but 
dumb with you, when you simply ignore her 
opinions or else smile at her original ideas as if 
they were not worth serious consideration. It 
is exactly the way some conceited husbands 
behave to their sweet-tempered wives. That’s 
why I don’t intend ever to marry — it’s one rea- 
son anyhow.” 

J ean perked her saucy head on one side, alert 
for earnest discussion on this important sub- 
ject, but Anne’s absently indulgent: “ Ah, 
well, you’re young yet,” stung her to a sarcastic 
little shrug of her shoulders. 

“ Poor Una! ” 

“ Yes, I do wish she had told me,” continued 
Anne, intent upon her own valuable thoughts. 
“ I would have gone walking with Mary 
myself.” 


251 


The Tyrant 

“ Gone walking? ” exclaimed Jean. 

“ Una went walking with Mary Bissell con- 
trary to my advice,” responded Anne, still 
absorbed in her own reflections, till the sound 
of a long drawn breath made her glance at the 
other. Jean was staring at her with eyes 
slowly widening more and more under the in- 
fluence of some alarming recollection. In- 
stantly Anne’s drowsing suspicions concerning 
Mary sprang into fresh life. 

“ What’s the matter? ” she demanded 
sharply. 

“ The girls say she is threatened with melan- 
cholia,” blurted out Jean. “ She has such a 
wild look at times. I knew a woman once 
who — who She had seemed quite harm- 
less. It was sudden — and Anne, where 

are you going? ” 

“ Let go of my arm.” Anne shook herself 
free. At the door she turned her head to call 
back: “ Of course they are both in Mary’s room 
by this time. I am going to the messenger 
office to find out in which hall she lives.” 

Jean, hurrying in the rear of swift-footed 
Anne down the lighted corridor, took time to 
assure herself that they were foolish to worry. 


252 When yean and I Wi ire Sophomores 

Nevertheless she was by Anne’s side when 
having learned Mary’s dormitory address both 
girls sped through the vestibule and ran out 
bareheaded into the winter night. 

From the circle of illumination beneath the 
porte-cochere, they strained their eyes to search 
each walk that curved away into the darkness. 
The dim whiteness of the snowy paths was 
empty of any moving form. Far off at the 
end of the broad main drive a light shone mildly 
amid the shadows of the lodge gates. 

Suddenly Jean felt her heart stop and then 
seem to jump into her throat at sight of a black 
figure with tossing arms that came darting 
under the rays of light at the lodge and was 
swallowed up in the heavy blackness of the 
evergreens along the drive. 

The next instant she was racing after Anne 
in the direction of the gates. They were al- 
most there before they came upon the appari- 
tion, now developed into an ordinary girl who 
was ploughing recklessly through the snow be- 
side the path. At sound of Anne’s husky call 
she whirled slowly around and sat down in the 
middle of a drift. 

M All my life I have been crazy to wade in 



“where is my sister?” 


































































































































































' 










































The Tyrant 253 

deep snow, 5 ’ she said, “ but they never would 
let me.” 

“Where is my sister?” demanded Anne 
breathless. 

The stranger gasped, and it seemed to 
Jean bending nearer that her jaw dropped 
slightly. 

“Goodness!” she stuttered, “wh-where’s 
your sister? I don’t know. I think I ate her 
for supper.” 

With a quick movement Jean flung her arm 
around Anne and braced herself to hold her 
erect. “ Anne, she isn’t crazy. It isn’t Mary 
Bissell. Don’t you see? She’s just jok- 
ing.” 

The stranger floundered nimbly to her feet. 
“ Mighty poor joke, wasn’t it? Lost your 
sister, have you? Very likely she is one of two 
girls whom I passed back there along the 
hedge. I heard them say something about 
cutting in across the field to the side door be- 
cause somebody might scold if they didn’t get 
back before the vesper service was over.” 

“ I never scold,” exclaimed Anne in a tone 
so vigorous with righteous indignation that 
Jean deemed it safe to withdraw her support- 


254 When "Jean and I W zre Sophomores 

ing muscles and yield to a fit of hysterical 
laughter. 

“ Oh, Anne, Anne, I’m glad I’m not your 
sister.” 

But again Anne was oblivious to idle speech. 

“ You’ll catch your death of cold, Jean, if 
you sit down here to giggle.” The girls ran 
back to the building. In the warm sweet air 
of the corridors Anne’s step moved linger- 
ingly. 

“ Jean, it is the loveliest place! ” 

“ Uhuh,” nodded Jean, also blissful in the 
reaction from anxiety. 

44 My mother sent me to college, Jean. Did 
I ever tell you how she worked and saved and 
planned for it before she died? ” 

Jean nodded silently this time. 

“ I wish I had — had — shown things more,” 
went on Anne wistfully. 4 4 I’m so stiff and 
horrid sometimes. Have you noticed it? ” 

Jean nodded again, now with a curious little 
quirk at the corner of her mouth and a light in 
her eye to welcome this sign of unexpected 
grace. 44 You’re all right inside,” she declared. 

44 Once I thought my mother looked sad and 
tired as she sat with her eyes closed and her 


*55 


The Tyrant 

head leaning against the back of her chair. I 
wanted to go and kiss her, but I couldn’t. She 
would have been so surprised.” 

They walked on in silence for a minute. 

“ Maybe,” said Jean softly, “ she knew any- 
how.” 

Anne, drawing a long breath, marched on to 
her door. She stood there a moment, her hand 
on the knob, her head bent. The sound of a 
thud within told of wet overshoes being kicked 
off from somebody’s impatient feet. Anne 
went swiftly in. Beside the radiator Una bent 
lower over her shoes, fumbling at the laces. 

Anne, starting toward her, halted midway 
for a hesitating moment of shy dread at the 
prospect of showing her feelings. Una would 
be so astonished. The older girl swallowed 
hard, took another step — and another — and 
another ; then, instead of stooping for an eager 
hug and a kiss as she had intended, she laid her 
hand on her sister’s hair. That took all the 
courage she had. 

Una was sensitive in every fibre. At the 
lingering touch — though indeed Anne was too 
much embarrassed to let it linger long — Una 
looked up instantly. In her face was a light 


256 When "Jean and I W zre Sophomores 

of surprised quick questioning and joy. It 
had astonished her, you see. 

“ Why, Anne! ” she said. 

This time Anne kissed her. 


XIII 


THE PROUD GIRL 

While Jean was in New York during part 
of vacation, I did not write to her once, because 
my postage-stamps were all gone, and I hate 
to borrow even two cents from anybody. 
When she found out the reason for my silence, 
she was so provoked that we nearly quarreled. 
She said it was foolish pride, and I said it was 
proper pride. It made the best argument 
every time we had a few minutes to talk. 
Finally we decided to stop disputing for a 
while until we could work up this story about 
two of the girls. Jean told me the facts, and 
I did the dialogue, as I am enough like Ruth 
to understand her feelings. 

The incident occurred last September. 

It was raining. It was always raining on 
the first day of the college year. With her 
hand on the door-knob, Ruth turned for a last 
wistful look around the big bare room with its 
257 


258 When Jean and I Were Sophomores 

two narrow white beds, its two dressing-tables, 
its four chairs, looming vague and shadowy in 
the gray dusk. 

“ Heigho! ” The door swung open before 
an energetic thrust of Jean’s arm. “ Hasn’t 
Nita come yet? You’ve been fixing up her 
room for her, haven’t you? You spoil that 
girl. You are always doing such things for 
her, and she is so used to it that she does not 
appreciate them. Those spicy nasturtiums! 
I’ll wager you haven’t a blossom in your own 
room. Why, child ! ” The gay voice rose 
several notes in surprise. “ What’s the matter 
with the place? Who changed it into a dou- 
ble? It was certainly a single when Nita 
chose it last May.” 

“ It must be a mistake. She’ll be so dis- 
appointed, Jean. She has been looking for- 
ward all summer to living in this big room, with 
you on one side and me on the other. I don’t 
know what to do about it.” 

“ Do about it? ” echoed Jean cheerily. 
“ That’s easy. She may sleep here to-night, 
and to-morrow notify Mrs. Long that the 
housekeeper has put too much furniture into 
her single. They’ll trot out half of it, that’s 


The Proud Girl 


259 

all. No need to worry about it. By the way, 
how’s your sister? ” 

In the gray stillness there was a sound of a 
breath caught sharply. “ She’s — she’s not 
quite so well. Mother has taken her to Flor- 
ida, you know. Thank you for inquiring, 
Jean.” 

“ Oh! ” — Jean’s manner was bluff from em- 
barrassment caused by touching inadvertently 
so near a sorrow — “ I’m very sorry. Send her 
my love when you write, will you? All the 
girls thought she was a beauty when she visited 
you here last winter. Wasn’t she planning to 
enter this fall? ” 

Again a pause, as if Ruth hesitated, making 
sure that her voice was under control. “ Yes.” 
The word seemed cut short by her breath fail- 
ing suddenly. “ She isn’t strong enough.” 

“ Florida will set her up all right. Don’t 
you worry. By the way,” Jean glanced about 
in an uneasy impulse to change the subject, 
“ this is a fine, big, airy room. Look at that 
high ceiling, will you? Oh, Ruth! It never 
struck me till this very minute ! But why don’t 
you and Nita room here together? You are 
inseparable, anyway. I do believe that is the 


260 When "Jean and I W zre Sophomores 

very solution of the muddle. Then the janitor 
needn’t move out any of the furniture. Just 
wait till Nita comes and tell her. She’ll be 
delighted.” 

“ Do you think so? ” 

Even Jean could not help noticing the quiv- 
ering inflection that betrayed something of 
Ruth’s longing for the comfort of Nita’s affec- 
tion. “ Of course she will. Don’t you worry. 
She ought to be here now. Good-bye. I must 
run and hunt up the friend of a cousin of an 
acquaintance of my aunt over in Bolton Hall. 
I’ll see you at dinner.” 

Ruth shut the door softly behind her and 
wandered out into the gloomy corridor after 
Jean. That end of the fourth floor north 
transverse seemed to grow more desolate min- 
ute by minute after the vanishing of Jean’s 
cheery presence. The freshman who had been 
assigned to the room next to Ruth’s had dis- 
appeared, leaving her trunk half unpacked in 
the darkest corner of the corridor. Once or 
twice a smothered sob from her side of the wall 
caused Ruth to bite her lip with quick fierce- 
ness in order to still its sudden trembling at the 
sound. Now at one window, now at another. 


7 he Proud Girl 


261 


she stood with her forehead pressed against the 
cool pane, with her eyes strained to watch the 
blurred figures that hurried in the dripping 
dusk up the avenue from the lodge gates. Nita. 
was the only one in the whole college who was 
close enough to care. 

When the darkness had thickened till by no 
stretching of imagination Ruth could distin- 
guish one form from another, she mechanically 
gathered up cape and umbrella and trudged 
for the twentieth time that afternoon down to 
the lodge. The disconsolate rain drizzled on 
steadily. Reaching the brick arch of the gates, 
Ruth closed her umbrella and let it drop into 
perpendicular position at her side, unmindful 
of its damp folds pressing against her skirt and 
shedding an occasional tear-like drop upon her 
already soaked shoes. When a far-away click 
of the rails told of a car approaching from 
town, she ran out with unprotected head to the 
corner of the hedge and peered down the street 
to catch a first glimpse of its glaring eye. With 
a whizzing of wheels, a splutter of sparks below 
and a clangor of its gong above, the car swung 
round the curve and stopped at the crossing. 
Ruth winked her wet lashes impatiently, her 


262 When Jean and I W zre Sophomores 

glance leaping from one to another in the maze 
of heads that filled the dazzling interior. No, 
that wasn’t Nita. Nor that, nor that, nor 
that. Oh, where was she? They were nearly 
all out now. One more — or was it two? 
There — there! It was she! It was Nita at 
last. 

In the rush of joy, Ruth ran forward three 
impetuous steps before the habit of her incur- 
able reserve had stiffened her manner. In- 
stead of the eager clinging hug that she longed 
to give, an ordinary kiss fell upon Nita’s round 
cheek. Instead of the welcoming shout that 
seemed still to bubble in her throat, her usual 
voice spoke briefly, “ Hello, Nita.” 

It was Nita who bestowed the hug, but her 
umbrella in one hand and bag in the other had 
barely bumped together behind Ruth’s shoul- 
ders before their clasp relaxed. 

“ Mercy, child! You’re sopping wet.” 

Ruth’s arms dropped limply, and she turned 
away her face to hide the hurt quiver. She 
told herself that Nita did not understand. 

“ My trunk hasn’t come yet,” she said. 

“ Stop, Ruth! ” called Nita a moment later. 
“ Why do you start trotting off alone with 


The Proud Girl 263 

your umbrella under your cape? Come and 
hold it over me. I want to talk to you. I 
want to tell you about my new idea. It is 
such a beautiful idea about gratitude, don’t you 
know. Adding to the sum of human happi- 
ness. Wait, Ruthie. You are going so fast! 
You are hooking my hat off my very head. 
What’s the matter? ” 

“ Nothing.” Ruth tried to step more 
calmly. “ I haven’t told you about the rooms 
yet.” 

“The room! My dear, big, bare room — 
I’ve been looking forward all summer to living 
in it and inviting my soul. We’ll have the best 
time in such a congenial neighborhood. Have 
you seen Jean yet? Well, let me tell you 
about my idea. Last summer I heard a great 
surgeon say that what he prizes most in his 
professional life is gratitude. One of his pa- 
tients kissed his hand after he had removed a 
cataract from her eye. Of course, he was em- 
barrassed, but he liked it, too. It was a sign 
of gratitude. It added a lot to his happiness. 
That set me to thinking that everybody likes 
to be appreciated. But how will anybody 
know that he or she is appreciated unless we 


264 When "Jean and I W zre Sophomores 

tell them so? That is what I intend to do this 
year.” 

“ Oh, do you! ” Ruth drew a bit nearer in 
an impulse of affectionate remorse for having 
been disappointed in her friend’s greeting. 
“ You are the sweetest girl! Sometimes I’ve 

wondered if you really noticed ” She 

hesitated, thinking of the thousand little kind- 
nesses that Nita had always received as a mat- 
ter of course. 

“ Oh, I know that people are perfectly lovely 
to me,” Nita sighed radiantly. “ I mean to 
thank every professor for each benefit con- 
ferred in class or out. Just by being them- 
selves, you know, they lay us under obligations 
to admire, don’t you think? How will they 
know that we appreciate them unless we ex- 
press our feelings? I’m going to tell Prexie 
how much we value his chapel admonitions. 
If a senior does something fine I shall praise 
her. If a musician or a lecturer gives me ex- 
traordinary pleasure, I must try to inform 
him of it. When we have a hall play, I hope 
to show the best actors that I enjoy their work. 
If a new book makes me happy, perhaps I shall 
write to its author. Why, Ruthie, everybody 


7 'he Proud Girl 


265 

likes to be appreciated. That great surgeon 
said so.” 

“ I see,” said Ruth slowly, and moved a step 
away again. “ How many is everybody, 
Nita? ” 

“ One too few if they leave out you,” laughed 
the other with a joyous squeeze of her fingers. 
“ It is so good to be back again, Ruthie. Ah, 
there is our class president in the vestibule. 
Just watch me now. My theory begins this 
minute.” 

A minute later she returned joyously to her 
friend. “ Ruth, I was right. Nancy was cer- 
tainly delighted when I told her how pleased I 
was to catch sight of her again. She doesn't 
grow tired of being liked, even if she is the 
most popular girl in the class. She held my 
hand in the warmest way and exclaimed, ‘ You 
of all people ! ’ It made me feel good.” 

“ Yes,” assented Ruth a little absently, for 
she had overheard Nancy give that same en- 
thusiastic greeting to half a dozen different 
girls already that afternoon. “ She has a de- 
lightful manner. Ah, Nita, quick! ” she low- 
ered her voice hurriedly. “ See that child in 
blue by the elevator. She rooms next to me 


266 When Jean and I Were Sophomores 

and she’s been crying for hours. I’ll introduce 
you, and you try to cheer her a bit, won’t you? 
You know how to smile beautifully at fresh- 
men. She’s homesick.” 

“ All right.” Nita’s manner radiated 
friendliness so heart-warming that the forlorn 
little stranger forgot her woes for the moment 
and gazed up at her, happily listening to the 
cordial questions. But just as the elevator 
rattled to a standstill beside them, Nita’s eyes 
grew distant and her tongue wavered. “ So 
charming to have you in our corridor, you 
know. You must run in to see us very often. 
Borrow a match now and then, don’t you know. 

So glad! A pleasure ” She broke off 

with disconcerting carelessness that left the 
freshman feeling as if some one had slammed 
a door in her expectant face. “ Ruth, there’s 
Professor Nash coming through the vestibule. 
I’m going to tell her how much I enjoyed her 
course last year. If she happens to be tired 
and discouraged, some commendation may 
freshen her spirit for the work. That’s my 
theory. Wait for me.” 

“ But — but she knows everybody enjoys her 
course,” stammered Ruth. “ Her classes are 


The Proud Girl 


267 

crowded. She’s the most famous and be- 
loved ” The girl let her sentence drop, 

for Nita was out of hearing, and turned with 
an apologetic word to the younger student. 
That young person, however, was staring in 
another direction with an air so haughtily in- 
different that Ruth knew she would certainly 
cry again just as soon as she could reach the 
shelter of her room. 

Ruth still looked sober when Nita came 
fluttering back. 

“ It was horrid. She asked me why I en- 
joyed it. I might have known she would ask 
why. When I told her how useful I found it 
all last summer to bring forward extracts from 
her lectures as small talk, she acted queer.” 

“Oh, Nita!” groaned Ruth, “and she is 
always exhorting us to be scholarly and exact. 
Small talk! Oh, Nita! She must have felt 
like a popular novel.” 

“ I don’t know what she felt like,” mourned 
Nita; “ my own feelings were all I could attend 
to at the moment. I don’t believe she really 
cares to be commended, anyhow.” 

“ Don’t you? ” responded Ruth absently. 
“ Maybe she doesn’t. It’s carrying coals to 


268 When yean and I Wt ire Sophomores 

Newcastle, don’t you think? But that little 
freshman, now, or somebody who never gets 
any praise, no matter how hard she works — 
they might appreciate it. I’ve often thought 
that the maid who waits on our table, or the 
one who takes care of our rooms ” 

“ Oh, our rooms!” exclaimed Nita, forget- 
ting for the instant the thorns that beset her 
path as a practical theorist. “ I can hardly 
wait to see mine. We were awfully lucky to 
get such good choices in the same neighbor- 
hood. Mine is such a splendid, big, airy place. 
Come, hurry along.” 

As the two girls hastened on down the long 
corridor that to eyes less dazzled by the glam- 
our of youth and joy in the opening of the 
dear college year might have appeared gloomy 
from insufficient light and depressing with the 
litter of trunks and wooden boxes, Nita chat- 
tered excitedly over her plans, but Ruth was 
curiously silent. Her heart, after its thrill of 
welcoming this dearest friend, had begun to 
ache again with a new loneliness added to the 
old, for Nita, in her eager zeal to please those 
above and beyond her, seemed to have no 
thought to spare for one walking at her side. 


The Proud Girl 


269 

If Nita did not care enough to ask, Ruth knew 
that she could not bear to tell her. That would 
be like using her sorrow to bid for affection. 
It was sympathy she wanted, not pity. If 
Nita did not care! 

“My lovely room! Here we are!” Nita 
pushed open the door gayly. “ Isn’t it big and 
airy! Why, Ruth!” Her face clouded in 
swift dismay. “ They have made it into a 
double.” 

“ Of course, it is a mistake,” put in Ruth 
quickly. “ Jean says it will be all right. You 
can sleep here to-night and notify Mrs. Long 
to-morrow. You chose it as a single, and she 
is always just. Of course,” she hesitated and 
tried not to watch the other’s changing face, 
“ of course, you’d rather have it as a single, 
wouldn’t you? ” 

Nita did not catch the wistful note that could 
not be wholly smothered. “ I certainly should. 
I have always wanted to live in a single. This 
is perfectly horrid. Oh, I am so disap- 
pointed ! ” She set her bag down hard on the 
center table and stood frowning about her 
without a word of thanks for the thoughtful- 
ness that had prepared the room for her. Ruth 


270 W hen yean and I hT zre Sophomores 

glanced at her expectantly, and then stepping 
to one of the windows, stood there with the 
cool, damp wind blowing her hair. She had 
waited a wearisome time at the office to secure 
Nita’s key that day. She had trudged up to 
the storeroom on the top floor three times in 
order to collect Nita’s treasures in readiness. 
She had hunted from one room to another on 
half their corridor in search of Nita’s rocking- 
chair, which had gone astray during the sum- 
mer house-cleaning. She had soaked her shoes 
and sleeves in gathering nasturtiums in the 
dripping garden. And now Nita had come 
and she did not notice. Perhaps she was too 
busy thinking how to express her gratitude to 
faculty and seniors and lecturers and musicians 
and authors and so forth. Ruth’s lips curled 
in a bitter little smile in the darkness. Then 
she turned around. 

“ Why, Nita! ” she exclaimed in a half gasp 
of astonishment at her glimpse of the other’s 
sudden radiance, “ you’ve an idea.” Her own 
face began to brighten. She knew, oh, she 
knew! She had been misjudging Nita. Nita 
cared, she really cared. She was going to pro- 
pose it herself. She was going to invite Ruth 


7 'he Proud Girl 


271 


to live in the double with her. She was going 
to do it because she loved her, not because of 
pity. Ruth half unconsciously stretched out 
one hand to her. 

“ Ruthie, what do you suppose? ” Nita’s 
dark eyes glowed in exaltation. “ It has just 
struck me that this is a chance to work out my 
theory again. It is an opportunity to express 
my gratitude to the college itself for all the 
beautiful years it is giving me. I really want 
to live in this room here among my friends. I 
thought we were going to have the best sort of 
times together. We could hang up portieres 
in this passage and keep our doors open and 
have it just like home. You and Jean and 
the others and I are such a congenial crowd. 
It will be a great sacrifice to me to give it all 
up and move into another room in another part 
of the building, or even in another dormitory. 
But I am willing to do it because that will be 
expressing my gratitude to the college by leav- 
ing this room a double for two other girls. 
And one of them, you understand, couldn’t 
live on the campus if I didn’t consent to let this 
remain a double instead of demanding that it 
shall be made into a single again. I shall go 


272 When Jean and I Were Sophomores 

straight now to tell Mrs. Long. I know she 
will be glad and appreciate my sacrifice.” 

Ruth’s hand had dropped to her side. She 
walked over to the window again and pre- 
tended to be fumbling with the sash; but the 
instant she heard the tap of Nita’s heels on the 
bare floor of the corridor she sank on her knees 
by the sill and reached both arms into the dark- 
ness. Even Nita did not care. 

Outside at the foot of the staircase leading 
up from Mrs. Long’s office, Nita bumped into 
another hurrying figure, and a moment later 
Jean had fallen upon her shoulder in ecstatic 
greeting. 

“You darling!” They beamed at each 
other. “ When did you arrive? Ruth has 
been wandering around like a lost ghost. 
Won’t we have the loveliest year all together 
in that end of the corridor! ” 

“ I am going to change,” said Nita, still 
exalted by the idea of her own nobility. “ Mrs. 
Long says it is very sweet and unselfish of me 
to be willing to leave my best friends and move 
to another dormitory. But the room which I 
chose last spring is made into a double by mis- 
take, and I feel that I owe some sacrifice as an - 


The Proud Girl 


2 73 


exjwession of gratitude to the college itself. 
Think of making it possible for one more stu- 
dent to live on this beautiful campus instead of 
in some stuff y boarding-house in town! So 
I’m going to move.” 

Jean’s mouth was so very wide open by this 
time that she could not reply immediately. 
When it finally shut far enough to enable her 
to articulate, she gasped, “ What ” 

Nita heaved a long breath. “ I can’t say it 
all over.” 

“Hush! I did not mean that what. I 
meant, what does Ruth say? She chose that 
room of hers — that little mean north room just 
on purpose to be near you. You know she did. 
Is she willing ” 

Nita sat down on the lowest step. “ I never 
thought of that,” she said. 

Jean looked at her. 

“ You never thought of that,” she repeated 
slowly. “ Well, suppose you start to thinking 
of it right now. Talk it over with her. I 
would if I were you. I’m not telling you any- 
thing. I’m not saying a word. You might 
inform her that I haven’t told you a word 
about — anything at her home. Just talk it 


274 When Jean and I Were Sophomores 

over together and — and ” she paused be- 
fore blurting out impatiently: “ Nita Wash- 
burn, you idiot! Does it make any difference 
to the old college whether that double is occu- 
pied by two freshmen or two sophomores? 
You and Ruth, for instance. Oh, you make 
me tired! ” 

She stalked away, then back again. 

“See here. What if some day a telegram 
should come for Ruth, and you aren’t there! 
If you are away off in some other dormitory — 
you, the only girl she really cares for in the 
whole place ! And at that time when she needs 
you — if she feels — if she knows that you don’t 
care anything for her — that you’re forever 
thinking about being nice to people who don’t 
give a snap for you! She is always doing 
things for you — and you never notice. You 
don’t thank her. You never dream of express- 
ing gratitude, as you call it, to your own best 
friend. And she is proud — she is awfully 
proud. And sensitive. She cares for you 
most — and you go off and move to another 
dormitory. You won’t even be sitting at the 
same table with her. Oh!” Jean brought 
down her foot hard. “ You make me tired! ” 


The Proud Girl 


2 75 

“ Not even at the same table! ” gasped Nita 
in dismay. “ I didn’t think ” 

“ Begin now. You’re getting older every 
minute. It’s all right to be grateful to 
strangers, though you shouldn’t bother them 
about it as a general thing when they don’t 
care whether you appreciate them or not. 
Appreciate your own mother and father and 
family and friends who love you and want you 
to care for them. Begin with the people near 
you, and then branch out afterward, if you 
have the energy to spare. Understand? Be 
just before you are generous. In short, show 
you are thankful for Ruth’s friendship. If 
you keep on in this way, you’ll lose it. That’s 
all. Go ” 

But Nita had gone. In the distant room 
Ruth, lifting her head from the sill at the sound 
of flying footsteps in the corridor, reached up 
to grasp the sash above her, and in doing so 
managed to lean out far enough to feel the 
raindrops dash upon her hot cheek. That 
supplied her with a pretext for drawing out her 
handkerchief. But before she could fix a little 
questioning smile upon her unsteady lips, 
Nita’s arms were around her. 


276 W hen yean and I Were Sophomores 

“ Ruth, will you room with me in that 
double? It is the queerest thing that I did not 
think of it at first. Maybe the sight of those 
two beds put in there by mistake rattled me. 
But now I am glad they did it. I want you to 
room with me. Oh, please, Ruth, will you? ” 

Ruth’s face after a flash of joyousness 
clouded slowly. She pushed Nita from her. 

“ Has Jean told you anything? It isn’t be- 
cause you are — sorry, is it? I don’t want 
pity.” 

“ Oh, no, no, she did not tell me a word that 
I didn’t know already. She just reminded me. 
Why should I be Sony for you? It is more 
likely that I shall be sorry for myself if you 
won’t room with me. Please, Ruthie, room 
with me this year. I want you. It isn’t pity. 
I don’t know what you mean by pity. It is 
because I want you to room with me. It is 
because I care.” 

Ruth stretched out both hands to her. 


XIV 


THIS QUEER WORLD 

The following manuscript has recently been 
discovered among my freshman themes. It 
sounds very young to me now. However, I 
have decided to include it in this sophomore col- 
lection of my mature works. (The narrative 
now begins.) 

You see, I never liked her even in the first 
place. 'Anybody with ordinary sense could 
recognize that she was not a lady. And by 
the word lady I do not mean anything in the 
least snobbish. As for her clothes, she dressed 
as well as anybody in the class. As for her mere 
manners, she knew how to bow and smile and 
say “ pardon me ” at the proper moments, and 
of course she did not eat with her knife, though 
that would not have been so bad. Indeed the 
only girl in the whole college who did use her 
knife to put food into her mouth — at least she 
did it the first few weeks till she noticed the 
277 


278 When "Jean and I W zre Sophomores 

difference — she was so jolly and nice that 
everybody liked her anyhow. 

But Alice Goodman was not a lady because 
she was always hurting people’s feelings. She 
showed what she was — or wasn’t — the very 
first time she happened to eat at the same table 
with Jean and me. It was the Saturday after 
college opened, and the girls had not yet made 
up their different groups to be assigned seats 
in the dining-room. This Alice Goodman 
chanced to sit beside me. We had no more 
than introduced ourselves all around, and were 
beginning our soup, than Alice stared at Jean 
and said, “ Miss Dickinson looks homesick.” 

Now wasn’t that the meanest thing to say, 
especially as Jean was bending as low as she 
could over her plate so that nobody might 
notice her eyes. Naturally at this remark 
every one near glanced at her, and she turned 
red as fire. Then that awful girl gave a little 
snicker and said, “ Now she’s blushing.” And 
Jean got up and walked out of the room so 
quickly that she knocked against three chairs 
on the way. 

I was so furious that I dared not open my 
mouth, and of course I could not go after Jean, 


2 79 


This £%ueer World 

for that would have made her more noticeable 
than ever, and the girls would be sure to ask 
her later what was the matter. And what do 
you suppose that Goodman person did? She 
sort of grinned at the corners of her lips and 
said, “ Isn’t it fun to make people mad? ” 

Now would you believe that after all this I 
could possibly have quarreled with my best 
friend — that’s Jean — just for the sake of such 
a stranger — or worse than a stranger? And 
yet there wasn’t anything else to do. It was 
this way. None of the girls liked Alice. As 
you perceive from the foregoing episode she 
had a fashion of saying things right out with- 
out considering how they might affect others. 
I fancy that she used to be an enfant terrible 
and acquired the habit of uttering crude re- 
marks that amused her family. (I didn’t tell 
you she was an only child, did I? Being an 
only child is very hard on the character.) It 
must have been most astonishing to her when 
she found that the girls did not laugh at her 
comments. 

After a while she seemed to stop expecting 
them to smile, and her speeches grew malicious 
mstead of merely thoughtless. For instance, 


28 o When Jean and I Were Sophomores 

one day somebody exclaimed that I had im- 
proved most amazingly since entering college. 
When I responded jokingly, of course, “ I 
wonder how,” Miss Goodman murmured as if 
to herself, “ I wonder too.” 

We all of us had as little to do with her as 
we could manage. She was always alone. 
She seemed to try at first to join one or another 
of us, but girls have a way of being sufficiently 
cool to any intruder. She was sensitive 
enough really, though she never appeared to 
think that other folks had feelings too. Isn’t 
it queer that the more a person worries over 
her own sensibilities, the less attention she has 
to spare for those of others! That is, most 
people are that way, but Jean is an exception: 
she is as careful about hurting other girls as 
she is quick to feel a wound. That is one 
reason why I was so dumbfounded when she 
quarreled with me over Alice Goodman. 

Alice, you know, kept getting more and 
more isolated all the fall. She roomed alone, 
and went to lectures and concerts alone, and 
took walks alone, and sat in chapel alone. 
Though I didn’t like her, as I have said before, 
I was sorry for her. 


28l 


This ^ueer World 

Well, one morning before Thanksgiving 
week I went out for a walk the third hour, be- 
cause a test in math was due the next period, 
and my head felt stuffed with cork. I think 
I had probably been studying too hard, though 
J ean insisted that it was too much fudge and 
three cuts till past eleven all in a row. Any- 
how the point is that I walked up Sunset Hill 
at a time when few students are out. That 
was how I happened to catch Alice off guard, 
for usually she was proud and stiff while on 
view. But this time as I flew up the curving 
path beneath the bare trees on which swung 
here and there a tiny shriveled brown apple in 
the frosty sunlight, I caught sight of a girl 
sitting on the bench at the crest alone. 
Through the arching pathway under a clump 
of spruces, I could see her figure etched 
against the sky. Oh, it had the loneliest look. 
Something snatched at my heart and tweaked 
it tight for an instant. Every line and nerve 
and muscle in her body drooped. She looked 
as if she hadn’t a friend in the world. And I 
don’t believe she had, either — at least, not in 
the little world of college. 

Instead of going on to speak to her, I turned 


282 When Jean and I W zre Sophomores 

and flew back as quickly as I could, for if it 
had been I sitting so forlorn in her place, I 
should have perfectly hated to have been seen 
by any of the girls. When I was young — or 
rather, I mean when I was younger, as Pro- 
fessor Nolan always phrases it when she begins 
an anecdote, but then she really is as old as 
thirty something — I read a novel called “ Put 
Yourself in His Place.” Since taking up 
psychology I see that this book — or more 
accurately, the title — has influenced my de- 
velopment a lot. It is very much the same 
idea as in the Golden Rule, but simpler. To 
put yourself in his place is one act and that’s 
all, whereas to do unto others as ye would that 
they should do to you means getting into their 
place and then back into your own and then 
reasoning about it. (You may skip this moral 
reflection if you are in a hurry to get on with 
the story.) 

The next thing I did was to go straight to 
J ean and say, “ Let’s invite Alice Goodman to 
sit with us for Thanksgiving dinner.” 

Jean simply opened her mouth and gasped 
exactly like a fish. I hurried on, “ She’s 
lonely, and I’m sure nobody else has asked her. 



< c 


y y 


YOU DO HAVE THE CRAZIEST NOTIONS 





















This Queer World 283 

I don’t believe she will enjoy the dinner at all 
unless we invite her.” 

By this time Jean had thought of shutting 
her mouth again. 

“ Humph,” she said, “ the idea! And you 
know very well that the rest of us wouldn’t 
enjoy it one particle if we should invite her. 
You have the craziest notions! ” 

I — crazy notions! That made me angry, 
but I only bit my lip and tried to be patient. 
“ Jean Dickinson, you know that if there is 
any trait that I absolutely despise and scorn 
it is the selfishness that lets a girl do a thing 
just because she wants to, or not do a thing 
just because she doesn’t want to. Merely be- 
cause you don’t want Alice to sit at our table 
is no reason for leaving her out. You ought 
to consider whether it is our duty to be kind 
to a lonely person. But, no, your first and last 
thought concerns your own happiness. If you 
could have seen her sitting on that bench! 
Jean, I am perfectly ashamed of you. I hate 
people who won’t listen to reason.” 

And what do you think? Jean simply got 
up without a word and walked into her own 
room, and closed the door. I was furious clear 


284 When yean and I IVere Sophomores 

through. Now in calmer moments I realize 
that I was so busy in putting myself into the 
place of Alice that I forgot all about how 
things looked from J ean’s side. I don’t 
know — I suppose it is hard to be in several 
places at once, particularly if you are not very 
agile. I am not in the least agile, for when I 
get set, I don’t budge for quite a while. And 
on this occasion I was set in a certain place 
which happened to belong to Alice. So I 
stayed there — I stayed there for days and 
days. 

Oh, it was a hideous time! That afternoon 
I informed Jean that I had decided not to sit 
with our especial crowd on Thanksgiving Day, 
as Miss Goodman and I were arranging a 
group of freshmen who were not well ac- 
quainted yet and needed the recreation of din- 
ing in congenial company. 

Now, see here, I’ve always heard that the 
best way to be happy yourself is to make others 
happy. But now I am not so sure that this is 
invariably true. There I was sacrificing Jean 
and things for all those strangers, and making 
them happy, and they did laugh a lot, till 
toward the end of the dinner when nobody 


! This ^ueer World 285 

behaved so awfully gay and joyous anyhow. 
You know how you feel when you have been 
eating for two hours steady. But I wasn’t 
happy myself any of the time, though I 
laughed as loudly as anybody. (Our table 
chanced to be near that which was assigned to 
Jean and her friends.) I couldn’t hear her 
laugh once, but of course I did not turn around 
to look. I think she missed me, for she doesn’t 
really care for eating in itself. She is such a 
funny girl. 

Well, after dinner I went with Alice to her 
room, and promised to go riding the next day, 
and to sit with her in chapel Sunday, and to 
take three dances with her guest at the “ Phil ” 
Reception the following week. When I told 
Jean, she just sort of looked resigned, and 
without saying a word she made me under- 
stand how a hen feels when she has her feathers 
ruffled up. (The feathers belonged to me.) 
I marched straight off to invite Alice to take a 
walk every day we did not have gym work. 
She seemed truly delighted. It is pleasant to 
be appreciated even by a person whom you 
don’t like. 

For it is a sober fact that I did not like Alice 


286 When Jean and I W zre Sophomores 

Goodman one bit. The more I saw of her, the 
less I cared for her. She was forever saying 
mean little criticizing things as if she was 
envious and jealous of everybody within notice. 
Of course I admit that the students are in- 
clined to discuss persons and things critically 
and analytically — and Jean and the others 
judged Alice rather cruelly, as I did think and 
do think still. But yet their attitude is dif- 
ferent; they certainly do not rejoice in flaws 
and defects as she appeared to do. Honestly, 
nothing seemed to please her more than to be 
able to point out some defect whenever I 
praised anybody’s face or brain or character 
or achievement. I did get so tired of listening 
to her. 

Very likely that was no excuse for the way 
I treated her later. To be sure, I had stood it 
for a week, and that was just about as long as 
I could manage, with Jean so horribly cool and 
polite all the time, and the other girls so sort 
of round-eyed and smiling at the corners of 
their mouths whenever they saw me with Alice. 
They thought it was mere stubbornness on my 
part. I don’t know. You see, this is not a 
story with a moral in it; it is only real life. 


This ^ueer World 287 

Sometimes real life has a moral, and other times 
it hasn’t. At least, that is how it looks to me, 
and in this narrative I can find no noble lesson 
for mankind. Probably nobody would deny 
that Jean and the girls were selfish in ostraciz- 
ing Alice, but then she deserved it, she really 
did, — because of her malicious tongue. So 
there isn’t any moral in their conduct. Per- 
haps there was something generous in my 
sacrificing congenial company for the sake of a 
stranger, but then it was not done solely to 
benefit her, for I got spunky about it when 
Jean exclaimed over inviting her to the dinner. 
And then later, I did not stick to her just when 
she truly deserved a champion; and that was 
the mistake of judging from appearances and 
jumping to conclusions. But sometimes I 
wonder what is the use of appearances, if not 
to furnish basis for judgments. Are they 
mainly to deceive? (This is a rhetorical ques- 
tion, and is jotted down in order to prove that 
girls frequently have original ideas. Many 
original ideas, I have noticed, either are not 
true or else have not much sense, or else they 
are mere scintillations of fancy. This one 
above is nothing but a moral reflection. ) j 


288 W hen "Jean and I W zre Sophomores 

Well — (Professor Nolan protests when any 
of us begins a translation with well or why-ee, 
because these unnecessary words simply waste 
breath. She doesn’t realize that they also save 
time while the pupil is wondering what the 
sentence means) — well, to pass on to the 
climax. On the Thursday before the Friday 
of the “ Phil ” Reception, I cut gym, because 
the day was so beautiful, and I also wished to 
think over things. You remember that I had 
made an engagement to go walking with Alice 
every day free from gym, and consequently 
this was the only time I could get off alone. 
Oh, and dear me, I was so tired of her and her 
tongue ! 

As I wanted to get away by myself, I chose 
the walk that winds through a grove of ever- 
greens off in a far corner of the college 
grounds. It was lovely and lonesome, with the 
narrow path reaching out empty and silent 
through the shadowy low-branching forest. 
It kept vanishing around curves and then un- 
winding into new vistas. I was just beginning 
to feel happy, as if a weight was slipping from 
my shoulders and my feet were getting lighter, 
when I reached another curve and caught a 


This §(ueer World 289 

glimpse of a skirt flitting on through the 
dappled light far ahead. 

My first impulse was to turn and stroll back, 
for I was not in the mood to be bothered by 
meeting anybody. Then I heard a sudden 
little squeak of some small animal in terror. 
At the same instant, the girl in front flung out 
her hands, waving them up and down, and 
darted aside toward the trunk of a great 
spruce. I saw her bend down over something 
on the ground. In a moment she started up, 
ran across to the path, picked up a stick, and 
hurried back. She raised that stick once, then 
dropped it and put her hand over her eyes. 
Then she lifted it again and brought it down 
whack and whack and whack on something 
there at her feet. Then she threw the stick as 
far as she could hurl it, and ran helter-skelter 
along the path out of sight. 

And when I came up to the spot, I found 
a little squirrel lying there all still and bloody 
with its head crushed in. And I had recog- 
nized the girl: she was Alice Goodman. 

Now what would you have done if you had 
been I? I went back to Jean; I flew. And I 
cried and cried and cried, but that could not 


290 When Jean and I Were Sophomores 

help the poor little dead squirrel. J ean didn’t 
say much, except that she had not imagined 
that anybody could possibly do a thing like 
that. She said that maybe there was some 
reason, but I told her that there wasn’t, that 
there couldn’t be, that it was only a wicked 
girl who had killed a harmless dumb creature 
for fun. 

After dinner when I was standing in the 
corridor with the other sophomores from our 
table, Alice Goodman came up as cool and 
smiling as ever and said, “ My 4 Phil ’ man has 
wired that he will be here early to-morrow on 
purpose to meet you. He says he’d be will- 
ing to walk all the way from Yale on his 
knees.” 

I looked right over her left shoulder and 
remarked airily to Jean, 4 4 Charming weather 
we’re having, isn’t it? ” 

I wasn’t looking at Alice, of course, but the 
others were, and they say that her eyes grew 
round with utter astonishment, then began to 
darken as if she were frightened. She shrank 
back a step before her face went perfectly 
white, and she walked off without a word. 
J ean said she was sorry for her, but I thought 


This ^ueer Ji^orld 291 

of the poor little murdered squirrel, and I 
wasn’t sorry one bit. 

You may imagine what the girls said when 
I told them about it, though Jean tried to stop 
me. She declared that Alice was ostracized 
enough anyhow, and this new offense would 
virtually drive her out of college. I said all 
right, I hoped it would, for just think how 
awful for such a girl to be graduated here and 
go into the world as a representative of this 
place ! 

The next afternoon I brought out my bicycle 
and went to town to buy oysters for supper in 
our rooms, as the big dining-room was cleared 
for the evening’s dance, and those students 
who lived in the main building had to eat some- 
where else for that once. On my way back at 
sunset I cut across through the pine walk, as 
that route is somewhat shorter than along the 
avenue; and I knew the girls were waiting. 

You know how noiselessly a good wheel can 
spin along a hard path. Evidently I whizzed 
along without a sound, for when I reached the 
spot where the squirrel lay, I saw two people 
standing there without noticing me. The man 
had just straightened up from a stooping posi- 


292 When "Jean and I Were Sophomores 

tion. I heard him say, “ You scared away the 
cat, but it was too late to save its life. So you 
took a stick and put it out of misery yourself. 
Well ! I wonder how many girls would have the 
nerve and grit to do that.” 

Then Alice spoke, “ It was all ” — her voice 
caught in a quiver, “ it was all bloody.” 

I tumbled off that bicycle so fast that I 
didn’t have time to fall down. In two seconds 
I was beside her. “ I thought you killed it for 
fun,” I cried. 

“For fun!” she echoed. I had been just 
going to throw my arms around her neck, be- 
cause I was so glad; but when I saw her face 
I did not dare. I sort of backed away, and she 
said, “ Charming weather we’re having, isn’t 
it, Mr. Lewis? Shall we go on now? ” 

I watched them go. The man kept glancing 
around uneasily, as if he did not understand, 
but Alice marched off with her head high. I 
could hear her laugh from quite a long distance. 

Well, that’s all. At least that is all for the 
present. But I have told the girls, and they 
are sorry they have been hard on her, even if 
she is not a lady and is always hurting people’s 
feelings with things she says. They will try 


2 93 


This ^ueer World 

to like her, for they all admire her courage. 
Funny, isn’t it? — how she can be so tender to- 
ward animals and thoughtless toward people. 
But then, I dare say I’m funny too, for I was 
cruel to her even while the idea of that squirrel 
suffering almost broke my heart. It’s a funny 
world anyhow. I wonder if she will forgive 
me so soon as to-morrow. 


XV 


THE KLEPTOMANIAC 

Emily was late to dinner that evening, 
reaching the table just as Luella was saying: 
“ If it is a student, she is a kleptomaniac; but 
if it is one of the maids, she is a thief.” 

Emily stopped with her chair pulled half- 
way back toward the table, and clasped her 
hands (which she had gone to town to have 
manicured that afternoon). 

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Who? Which? 
What? Where? When? Why? How?” 

“Whence and whither?” mimicked Jean, 
starting to clasp her hands and then deciding 
not to, because she had mopped up some in- 
delible ink with her thumbs after the dressing- 
gong rang. 

Luella counted on her fingers. “ Yesterday 
Marian missed her brand-new striped silk 
sweater from her best bureau drawer. Sara 
found only the empty box when she went to 
get her hat trimmed with that lovely wreath of 
294 


The Kleptoma?iiac 295 

velvet daisies. My brocaded bag disappeared 
from the end of the bookcase where I always 
hang it, and I have hunted high and low, and 
asked both maids who have charge of the rooms 
on that corridor. Lucile has lost her red para- 
sol— or rather it vanished from the inside of 
her closet, for she has not used it once. 
Evanna’s cuckoo clock was taken from her wall 
this morning, but she is sure the maid did not 
steal it, though it is sweeping-day, and she had 
plenty of chance ” 

“The maid!” ejaculated Emily, clapping 
one hand to the top of her hair which is indeed 
lovely, being thick and wavy and a becoming 
color to her complexion (medium fair). “ It 
must have been the maid who stole my real 
tortoise-shell hairpin. She swept my room 
to-day. This evening I broke my ordinary 
pin with the long undulating prongs, and I 
could not find my best one, though I searched 
high and low. Real tortoise-shell ! Of course 
it was the maid who took it.” 

“ Of course it wasn’t,” exclaimed Jean in- 
dignantly, for Rosa is our corridor maid, too, a 
slip of a creature with big scared eyes, and the 
most fascinating shy little smile when anybody 


296 When yean and I W zre Sophomores 

says good-morning to her. “ Rosa does not 
steal.” 

“ She would not have any use for such a 
heavy pin,” I added. “ Her hair is just be- 
ginning to grow long enough to fasten back. 
She told me that she had a fever and kept it 
cut short last year.” 

Luella leaned the tips of her elbows on the 
very edge of the table, which is entirely per- 
missible if done with pretty arms and short 
sleeves. 

“ The main point is,” she declared, “ that no 
maid of any sense would steal from the rooms 
in her charge, because she is always the first to 
be suspected when articles are missed. Now, 
tell me, you girls who live on Rosa’s corridor. 
Does she strike you as especially stupid? ” 

“No!” cried Jean quick as a wink, and 
nudged my knee beneath the table as a sign 
for me to answer instantly, too. I was hesi- 
tating because I truly never did think that 
Rosa is particularly bright. 

“ She strikes me as shy,” I explained care- 
fully. “ She is like a little mouse ” 

“ Mice steal,” piped up Emily, whose mind 
I should describe as nimble rather than pro- 


"The Kleptomaniac 297 

found. “ And I am sure that Rosa took my 
pin. I was in such a hurry to dress for dinner 
after returning late from town that I thrust 
my ordinary pin in too hard and snapped it in 
two. When I could not find my best one, I 
shook my head to see if the broken pin would 
hold the hair firm for a while. Then I rushed 
down the corridor, passing Rosa on the way, 
so it is positive that she knew I was not in my 
room. Though I rushed fast, I was late any- 
how, and had to wait till the dining-room doors 
were opened after the silent grace. While I 
was standing in front of the faculty table till 
Mrs. Belden should be ready to glance up and 
acknowledge my bow of apology for tardiness, 
I felt my hair slipping. So I skipped out 
through the door again — isn’t it horrid to be 
late unless you know you look all right? — and 
dashed back to my room to fasten my hair 
better. And what do you think! Rosa was 
there, just coming out. Her hand was on the 
knob.” 

“ Of course she went in to shut a window or 
something,” spoke up Jean like a flash. “ You 
always forget to turn down your gas. The 
maids are expected to keep an eye on all the 


298 W hen Jean and I TV zre Sophomores 

transoms in their corridors. She had a right 
to look in and see if anything was wrong.” 

“ Why did she jump when she saw me, then? 
She turned white as a ghost and was shaking 

all over. If that isn’t a sign of guilt ” 

“ The point is,” stated Luella in her cus- 
tomary manner of laying down the law, even 
while she kept on eating her potato, “ did the 
other thefts occur on Rosa’s corridor? Evanna, 
does Rosa sweep your room? ” 

“ Go along, honey,” drawled Evanna more 
slowly than usual in order to hide that she was 
startled. “ That clock will come rolling out 
from nowhere to-morrow. Don’t you-all 
worry about Rosa. She’s a friend of mine.” 

“ And she is a friend of mine, too,” put in 
J ean, her cheeks getting redder and redder be- 
cause she was so mad at Emily. “ I know she 
does not steal. It is a cruel, cruel thing even 

to think so. Her reputation is all she has ” 

“ But somebody must have taken the things 
that have disappeared,” declared Luella, be- 
ginning on her salad. (She ought to go into 
law, because nothing takes away her appetite. 
Jean was still crumbling her soup crackers.) 

“ And maids do steal sometimes,” protested 


! The Kleptomaniac 299 

Emily, almost crying, for she admires Jean a 
lot. “ Is it cruel to say a tiling even when it 
is true ” 

“ It is not true.” J ean shoved back her 
chair so hard that it toppled over with a crash 
that made everybody look in the direction of 
our table. “ And I am going to prove that 
Rosa is not the thief.” 

Before following her out of the dining-room, 
I waited to see what the dessert would be. 
Meanwhile the girls made a few more com- 
ments, Evanna agreeing with Jean, while 
Emily and the others approved of Luella’s 
remark that the genuine scientific attitude re- 
quired us to suspend judgment until facts were 
collected, instead of determining to hunt up 
facts to prove an hypothesis, as Jean intended 
to do. They meant that they believed the thief 
might turn out to be Rosa or some one else. 
Jean, you remember, said that she meant to 
prove it was some one else. I went and told 
her that I would help. 

Jean said that the first step was to decline 
to go to the hall play that evening, so that we 
could watch Rosa while she was on guard in 
our corridor. Thus we could make sure that 


300 When Jean and I Were Sophomores 

she did not go into any of the rooms to steal. 
When I asked how we could be certain, if we 
should see her enter a room, whether she went 
to steal or to turn down the gas, J ean said that 
we ourselves would turn it down in every room 
on the corridor before Rosa came up from the 
maids’ quarters at eight o’clock. This we 
did. 

After presenting our tickets to two fresh- 
men, who thanked us enthusiastically, as indeed 
they should have done, for a hall play is one of 
the big dramatic events of the college year, we 
withdrew into our own double until the others 
had departed in the direction of Philalethean 
Hall. When the last footfall had receded, 
quick-tapping, down the corridors, when the 
last outburst of light-hearted laughter had 
floated into silence, when by leaning out of the 
window I could watch the last guests tossing 
the ends of their chiffon scarfs as they entered 
the front door of the gym, where the plays are 
given, we slipped around the neighborhood, 
turning down whatever lights had been left 
burning too high. 

Now I will describe the scene of our pro- 
spective vigil. The dormitory has one long 


3 01 


The Kleptomaniac 

corridor running through the middle of the 
building, and cut by a shorter transverse corri- 
dor at each end. Our room is on the south 
transverse. One end of the transverse narrows 
into an alleyway with singles on both sides. 
The other end stretches along like the rest of 
the corridor with windows on one side and 
rooms on the other till it reaches a partition. 
After passing this through an opening like a 
double door, it expands around the staircase of 
the south tower, with more rooms right and 
left. At the foot of the stairs is a gaslight, 
and also one where the main corridor joins the 
transverse. But neither is very bright. 

Against the partition which extends from 
the outer wall to the passage into the tower hall 
there are three movable wardrobes used by 
students who occupy the small inside bedrooms 
in the adjacent double suites. This corner is 
so dark that Jean and I planned to hide by 
snuggling in between the wardrobes, where 
nobody would be likely to notice us, though we 
ourselves would have a free view of the maid’s 
chair under the light where the transverse 
crosses the main corridor. We wore dark 
bathrobes and blackened our faces with burnt 


302 When yean and I W zre Sophomores 

cork, so that vve were truly invisible to any un- 
suspicious passer-by. Jean told me to be care- 
ful not to roll the whites of my eyes if anybody 
should happen to glance toward the wardrobes. 
And I warned her to keep her teeth covered by 
her lips or else her hand. 

While we waited for Rosa to appear, we 
stared at the straight wooden chair that looked 
forlorn as it stood there empty in the center of 
that pallid circle of light. (Rosa is no older 
than most of the freshmen, and yet she has to 
sit there alone with a book, maybe, or fancy 
work, while the students are having fun off 
somewhere at a play or a lecture or something 
all the evening.) 

After what seemed a long time, though we 
talked in whispers, we heard her step far down 
the corridor. It sounded as if she was in no 
hurry to reach that uncomfortable chair. 
When she did at last arrive at the transverse 
and drop huddled into her seat, she let her 
book lie unopened in her lap. At first I sup- 
posed that she considered the light too dim to 
read by. But presently she impressed me as 
being frightened to be there alone with the 
shadows flickering around her, and the corners 


The Kleptomaniac 303 

so mysterious and dusky, especially ours be- 
tween the wardrobes. 

I think the windows, too, terrified her. 
Haven’t you ever watched a glistening dark 
pane of glass, wondering how you would feel 
if you should suddenly behold a horrible face 
press close to it out of the blackness of the 
night? She behaved as if she did not like to 
look at the closed doors, either, that stretched 
away on all sides, silent, impenetrable, full of 
the possibility that one of them might swing 
noiselessly, hideously open, and something 
walk out. She was afraid of the alleyways, 
too. I could tell that from the way she tried 
to shrink smaller every time her uneasy 
glances jumped past those yawning dark 
passages that were sprinkled in among the 
closed doors of the single rooms. Even after 
she opened her book she did not read much, 
though she held it high in front of her eyes. 
I could see her little head twist now to one 
side, now to the other, as she kept guard. 

Finally she unwound her feet from the 
rounds of the chair, and stood up. After hesi- 
tating a moment or two — I could see how she 
was trembling — she darted down the main cor- 


304 W he?i Jean and I Were Sophomores 

I'idor out of sight. We could hear the tap, tap, 
tap of her shoes growing fainter and fainter, 
as she ran. So of course that proved that she 
did not enter any of the rooms to steal any- 
thing — at least, not in that end of the build- 
ing. 

I heard Jean draw a long breath, and 
mutter, “Ow! My foot’s asleep.” And I 
was just going to shake mine to test it, when 
the sound of another pair of footsteps ap- 
proached from the stairway in south tower, 
which was on the other side of the partition 
behind our wardrobes. Hence it was impos- 
sible for us to peek until the person came glid- 
ing through the narrow passage into our 
stretch of dim and dusky transverse. 

She came slinking forward on tiptoe, poking 
out her head at the end of her neck, so as to 
see if the transom was lighted. I mean the 
transom of our room, for it was indeed our very 
own alleyway at which she was peering 
cautiously, the wardrobes being in the corner 
opposite. After casting furtive looks up and 
down, but not behind her, where we were 
stationed mostly invisible, she scuttled down 
the alleyway to our door. I heard the knob 


The Kleptomaniac 305 

rattle. Half a minute later she came scurry- 
ing out just as Rosa’s step began to grow 
audible in the awful stillness of that virtually 
deserted edifice. 

The nocturnal visitor paused fearfully listen- 
ing, one long braid falling forward over her 
shoulder, one hand clutching the front breadth 
of her bathrobe in readiness to lift it higher so 
that she might flee if necessary. Rosa’s step 
was still far away and advancing very, very 
slowly toward our end of the corridor. The 
person seemed to decide that the danger of 
discovery was not yet imminent, for she 
skulked rapidly on to Evanna’s room, which 
was next to ours. There, after warily scanning 
the dark transom, she stooped down, shoved 
something white through the crack beneath the 
door, floundered rapidly upright, gave one 
hunted glance in Rosa’s direction, then whirled, 
dashed straight toward the row of wardrobes, 
and slid into the cubby-hole where I was 
crouching. The reason why she did not bump 
into me was that I was spread out quite flat 
against the wall. 

Reader, it was Margaret V. Adams, editor- 
in-chief of the college magazine! I held my 


306 When "Jean and I Were Sophomores 

breath. This I did, not because it would have 
been any more disgraceful for me to be dis- 
covered in that peculiar seclusion than for her. 
Indeed, the reverse was true, inasmuch as she 
had not my excuse for remaining in that 
vicinity. None of those wardrobes contained 
any of her clothes, whereas most of mine were 
hanging that very minute in the one at my left. 

Reader, my agony — I refer to the effort of 
holding my breath — was mercifully brief, for 
Jean snickered almost at the very instant of 
Margaret’s arrival in my recess, which she 
chose because it was darker than Jean’s, being 
nearer the corner. 

At sound of the snicker her head turned 
suddenly. Then Rosa jumped. With one 
wild bound she was out of her chair and flying 
toward the middle of the building. She said 
afterward that she had caught a glimpse of 
J ean’s white teeth glittering out of blackness, 
for you remember that we had corked our faces 
so as to harmonize with the dark shadows of 
our environment. 

Immediately and without delay Jean tum- 
bled out of her nook, nearly pushing the ward- 
robes over in her rush, and tore madly after 


The Kleptomaniac 307 

Rosa, who was screaming for help. There- 
upon Margaret took an impetuous step back- 
ward, squashing into me. With one wild 
shriek of terror she sprang half-way across the 
transverse and departed in haste after Jean. 
I brought up the rear, trotting around the 
angle into the main corridor just in time to 
behold Rosa, far down the perspective, fling 
both arms around the elevator-boy, who was 
beginning to advance to the rescue. 

When I reached the scene of events Jean 
was trying to explain the situation to Prexie, 
who had come dashing and plunging down the 
stairs from the drawing-room, where he had 
been saying good-night to a committee of 
trustees. 

Reader, the incident defies description. Re- 
member that three of us were clad in woolly 
bathrobes, and two of us were of an amazing 
hue as to our complexions. Remember that it 
was impossible to state in Rosa’s presence that 
Jean and I were perfectly justified in hiding 
between those wardrobes. Remember that 
Margaret V. Adams had conducted herself 
exactly as a kleptomaniac might have done, 
and she knew it. Judging from the color of 


308 When "Jean and I Were Sophomores 

her face, I feel at liberty to assume that she 
wished she too had used a burnt cork earlier in 
the evening. The trustees had followed Prexie 
to the fatal spot. 

Reader, just as Jean’s eyes were bulging like 
white marbles at the news that Prexie had not 
heard one single word about the doings of the 
kleptomaniac, a group of girls came surging 
in through the front door, for the hall play was 
now over. Among them were Luella and 
Evanna and others. 

“ Isn’t it possible that some of you are jok- 
ing? ” asked Prexie. 

In the middle of an awful pause — stunned 
on Jean’s part and politely inquiring on 
Prexie’s, the sound of several squeals from the 
newcomers announced their surprise at sight of 
our complexions. 

J ean’s grin of acknowledgment, though 
feeble, showed the all-round sympathy of her 
nature, for even at that moment she motioned 
to me to escort Rosa somewhere out of hearing. 
While I was trying to think up a pretext for 
doing this, Luella sailed forward, without wait- 
ing for J ean’s imploring gesture, and nodded 
graciously to Prexie and the trustees. They 


*Ihe Kleptomaniac 309 

looked as if they appreciated her noticing 
them. (She is the handsomest girl in col- 
lege.) 

Jean said, “ Pardon me. Miss Brown will 
explain about the epidemic of kleptomania 
which I was mentioning. A number of valu- 
able articles have disappeared from various 
rooms during the absence of their respective 
occupants. Frocks and hats and bags and 
clocks and parasols have vanished leaving no 
trace. Everybody was talking about it at 
dinner. Indeed, it is not a joke.” 

Luella’s mouth twinkled at the corners with- 
out making a wrinkle. (She is lucky in a lot 
of ways.) 

“ But it is a joke,” she laughed in that low- 
toned mellow note of 0 , which indicates a 
genial character, sometimes correctly. “ The 
frock and the hat and the bag and the clock and 
the parasol did in fact disappear as reported. 
But they were not stolen. They were only 
borrowed for the play. As we sat watching 
the stage, one by one those vanished articles 
reappeared as adornments of the different 
actors. Oho, ho, ho! There isn’t any klepto- 
maniac. There are only girls who borrow 


310 W hen "Jean and I Were Sophomores 

without bothering to notify the owners. They 
have not even the grace to be ashamed.” 

Margaret V. Adams caught my eye, then 
she caught Jean’s. 

“ The reason why I ran to hide,” she said, 
“ was because I was returning rejected manu- 
scripts by poking them beneath doors, and I 
did not want to meet the authors while I was 
doing it. They are likely to feel insulted when 
I cannot use their contributions for the maga- 
zine. I thought they would all be at the play.” 

“ We weren’t,” said I. 

“ I wish we had been,” said Jean. 

Evanna hooked a long arm around each of 
the necks belonging to Jean and me. 

“ Come along, little pickaninnies,” she 
chuckled. “ Let’s go look under my door.” 


Remark. Next year we will be juniors. 
They have fun. 

Note. I wish every girl could go to college. 
P. S. Or else find a friend like Jean. 

P. P. S. Of course I do not mean exactly 
like Jean. 

N. B. That is impossible. 


XVI 


IN THE LIBRARY 

This is the story of a girl who did not go to 
college. She was in my class in the high 
school. This summer I found her employed in 
the Public Library. What I have written 
about her is mostly true to fact, although of 
course I had to draw on my imagination for 
part of it. Miss King told me the rest. 

The girl’s name is not Rosemary in real 
life. 

Rosemary, with a white slip of paper in one 
hand, a yellow library card in the other, glided 
swift and noiseless through the ordered maze 
of the shelves ranged with fiction. On both 
sides of every narrow aisle towered parallel 
walls of books that reached from floor to ceil- 
ing. Her eyes flitted rapidly from row to row, 
till high above her head they caught and rested 
on a certain book. Yes, that was the required 
311 


3 1 2 When Jean and I Wi ire Sophomores 

number. Standing on tiptoe to reach it, she 
touched it and recognized it suddenly with a 
quick little sigh, half shrinking. It was a 
volume of college stories. She had been try- 
ing not to think about college. 

Her step, however, was as brisk as before* 
and her manner as brightly alert when she 
emerged from among the shelves and advanced 
to the long delivery desk which hedged in the 
books from the public. That particular mem- 
ber of the public who was awaiting her wel- 
comed her return with a smile that meant to be 
cordial and succeeded in being listless. 

“ Thank you, Rosemary,” said Nancy, 
propping her elbows on the desk, for she was 
not yet rested from the whirl of the last week 
at college. “ I’m crazy to read it. Every- 
body says it gives a splendid picture of college 
life. I do hope the subject won’t be com- 
pletely worn out before I graduate. I am 
gathering material now for a collection of 
stories about my experiences these four years. 
We have the loveliest times.” 

“ I dare say,” responded Rosemary, con- 
tinuing with businesslike speed to stamp the 
date on the card. 


In the Library 313 

Nancy’s pale face (it was awfully hot that 
morning) shadowed wistfully beneath her 
flower-wreathed hat (my old one). 

“ I wish every girl could go to college. 
Rosemary, you cannot realize what you have 
missed.” 

The other glanced at her almost with an 
effect of stolidity. 

“ I suppose not,” she remarked dryly, but 
her fingers trembled slightly as she opened the 
book, and she seemed to have difficulty in 
slipping the card into its proper pocket inside 
the front cover. 

“ If X had not gone it would have been the 
regret of my life. The regret of my life,” re- 
peated Nancy soberly before dimpling un- 
expectedly into a whimsical smile. “ And I’d 
hate to have a regret in my life, Rosemary.” 

“ They aren’t nice,” assented her former 
schoolmate with a promptness that betrayed 
anxiety to close the subject. “ I wouldn’t 
have any if I were you. They aren’t neces- 
sary. By the way, will you tell your mother 
that the library has bought those books she 
was asking for? They will go into circulation 
next week. See, this is the first volume of 


314 When "Jean and I Were Sophomores 

the set. Very attractive binding, don’t you 
think? ” 

Nancy, after reading the title, spoke with an 
air of apologetic superiority. 

“ That is not really literature, you know. I 
cannot imagine why mother was interested in 
such trash. When I explain what rubbish 
that author writes, I am sure she will not care 
to waste her time on it. My mother never 
went to college, you know.” 

If Nancy had not looked up just at that 
moment she would not have seen the disdainful 
expression that flickered for half an instant 
about Rosemary’s mouth before curving into a 
crooked smile of conventional attention. 

“ Perhaps she never missed it ” 

“ Oh, no, no, of course not,” broke in Nancy 
hastily, wondering if her cheeks looked as hot 
as they felt. “ I didn’t intend to say anything 
So toppy. Did it sound dreadful? Anyhow, 
college was not so necessary in our mothers’ 
generation as now. Every girl of to-day ought 

to go if she possibly can. I am so sorry ” 

Rosemary interrupted hurriedly: “ Here is 
the book, Miss Blake. You may keep it out 
only seven days, as it is likely to be in demand 


3*5 


In the Library 

this summer. From what I have read of it, I 
should say it will be popular among the 
students who are home for vacation.” 

“ Oh, didn’t you enjoy it yourself? ” ex- 
claimed Nancy eagerly. “ Didn’t it make you 
wish that you had gone to college? Did you 
begin to understand how much it means? 
Work in a library must be delightful, of course, 
but college life is perfect. It means being 
with other girls — hundreds of them — no re- 
sponsibilities, no worries, no compromises or 
sacrifices. It is the joy of youth. Each one 
presses onward, exulting in her own strength.” 
Nancy checked herself with another quick 
glint of her dimple (poetic license allows me 
to idealize my looks in this way, as — alas — I 
cannot make one even with the end of a lead- 
pencil) . 

“Yes?” responded Rosemary politely, 
though at the same time she turned her head to 
look toward some one else who had walked up 
to the desk and was waiting to be served. “ I 
dare say.” 

“ Except when you fall behind in your 
work,” continued Nancy, being truthful. 
“ That’s horrid. But, oh, Rosemary, I enjoy 


3 1 6 W hen yean and I Were Sophomores 

every minute — every minute — even the miser- 
able ones,” she added. “What if you have 
never even seen the college itself? When you 
read these stories didn’t you begin to under- 
stand how much you have missed? ” 

“ Good-bye,” said Rosemary, and sending 
her a momentary smile over one shoulder went 
to secure a volume for the next borrower. 
The instant she had reached the concealing 
wilderness of shelves again, she clenched both 
fists and thrust them downward with a force 
that made the bones of her forearm ache. 

u Didn’t I begin to understand how much I 
have missed? ” she repeated breathlessly. “ No, 
I didn’t! I have always known — I have al- 
ways known.” Halting for a second, she 
rested her forehead against the most con- 
venient row of books and closed her smarting 
eyes. “ What a selfish, selfish, selfish girl 
she is!” 

(I am not sure she really said this, but it is 
not unbelievable that she may have so referred 
to me. I have been trying to improve since 
then. Ask my mother. ) 

When Rosemary once more approached the 
delivery desk with the required novel, a new 


In the Library 317 

patron had entered the library and taken her 
place in line. She happened to be one of 
Rosemary’s former teachers in the high school. 
While waiting for notice, she studied the girl’s 
face. She remembered that lovely hair and 
the long eyelashes now so persistently down- 
cast over the cards. The eyes must be still the 
deep quivering blue, rimmed with black around 
the iris. But the mouth? Was that Rose- 
mary’s mouth? She recalled the saying that 
our eyes are as nature made them, but our 
mouths we mould ourselves. This mouth once 
so joyously sweet had begun to harden with 
the hint of a resentful indent at the corners. 
What was the trouble? 

When in her turn she confronted the im- 
personally alert young attendant, she reached 
out both hands in warm greeting. 

“ Rosemary, have you forgotten me? The 
last time I saw you you were reading your 
commencement essay on the stage of the old 
opera house. Surely two years have not 
submerged your memory of rhetoric and 
geometry.” 

With a flash of delighted eyes and sparkle 
of welcoming smile, Rosemary leaned forward 


318 When Jean and I Were Sophomores 

to meet the eager clasp. Left for a minute 
undisturbed, the two friends drew closer in 
swift speech. 

“ And you, Rosemary? ” The woman still 
held the girl’s hands. “ How have the years 
gone with you? Did you go to college, as you 
had planned? Are you specializing in library 
work this vacation? Have you given up the 
idea of teaching in the high school? Is college 
all that you expected? ” 

“ I did not go to college,” said Rosemary. 

“ Oh — I am sorry.” Miss King’s voice 
faltered in dismay. “ Rut you had taken the 
entrance examinations. You were all ready, I 
understood. What changed your plans?” 

“ Miss Evans,” called the head librarian in 
tones suitably subdued to the atmosphere of 
bookish quiet, “you are wanted at the tele- 
phone.” 

As Rosemary vanished into the office, her 
chief stepped forward to speak to Miss King, 
who was an old acquaintance. At her first 
opportunity the latter inquired why her star 
high school pupil of two years ^past had given 
up college. 

“ It was quite a little tragedy,” explained 


In the Library 319 

the librarian. “ Rosemary was on the very 
point of starting. Her trunk was packed, her 
ticket bought, her good-byes said. At the 
station itself, just as the train steamed in, she 
learned suddenly that the firm which employed 
her father had been forced to make an assign- 
ment. Like a sensible girl she realized what 
that would mean in that year of the panic. 
So she ran to get her trunk back, returned her 
ticket, and went home to help earn a living for 
the family. I was very glad to have a place 
for her in the library. She has done excellent 

work — excellent ” the speaker repeated, 

and hesitated. 

“ A girl with a perfect passion for study,” 
frowned Miss King. “ Ever since I first met 
her as a child with short skirts and long braids, 
she was planning and dreaming of college. I 
am more sorry than I can tell.” 

The librarian shot her a keen glance. 

“ Don’t you think there is such a thing as 
being too sorry? Rosemary has done excel- 
lent work, as I am telling you, but ” 

“ Go on,” said the other. “ You and I are 
both her friends. If you think I can help in 
any way, don’t distrust me.” 


320 W hen "Jean and I IF ere Sophomores 

“ Didn’t you notice how her mouth has 
changed? She cannot get over being sorry 
for herself. She does not even try. She is 
jealous ” 

“ Hush! ” Miss King touched her arm in 
warning as Rosemary approached, ready to go 
out to luncheon. She gladly assented to be 
the guest of this favorite teacher at a certain 
familiar restaurant not many blocks away. 
They sought the shady side of the street, and 
fell into step easily as in the old high school 
days. The talk flitted idly at first from topic 
to topic as they felt their way back into touch 
after the two years of separation. When Miss 
King began to inquire after one and another 
of her former pupils, Rosemary caught up 
Nancy’s name. 

“ Yes, Nancy went to college as she had 
planned. It was her mother who called me to 
the telephone while you were in the library. 
She asked me to give Nancy a message about 
the marketing in case I should see her when 
she called for a book. I was obliged to tell 
Mrs. Blake that her daughter had just gone. 
I could guess that Miss Nancy had been play- 
ing around all the morning instead of helping 


In the Library 321 

her mother. There are several younger chil- 
dren, too, besides a guest. That is what col- 
lege does to a girl — makes her selfish.” 

A quick side glance from Miss King re- 
vealed a curiously unpleasant little smile on 
Rosemary’s face. 

“ Oh, I hope only temporarily, my dear. 
Perhaps it takes a little time for a girl to 
adjust herself to home duties after the months 
of care-free life at college. It may be that she 
loses the habit of thoughtfulness for a while. 
Don’t be too hard on Nancy.” 

Rosemary talked on as if in feverish haste 
to strengthen her own convictions. 

“ Yes, indeed, Miss King, I have adopted a 
philosophy of life. It helps to straighten out 
the tangles. You know Emerson’s essay on 
Compensation? We read it in senior English 
with you. The other day I chanced to pick it 
up again, and read it with clearer understand- 
ing. He says, ‘ For everything you have 
missed, you have gained something else; and 
for everything you gain, you lose something.’ 
So I’ve been watching.” 

She paused with a subdued air of triumph 
that, like the smile, was curiously unpleasant. 


322 When Jean and I Were Sophomores 

Miss King looked puzzled. 

“ You’ve been watching for what? ” 

“ I’ve been watching everybody who has 
gained anything that I have missed. I’ve 
been watching Nancy to see what she has 
lost in compensation for her two years at col- 
lege.” 

“ But that is not the right way,” protested 
the elder woman, only to be checked by Rose- 
mary’s rapid speech. 

“ She’s pale. She’s thin. She doesn’t seem 
so strong as she was in the high school. There, 
you see, she has lost part of her health. She 
neglects home duties. She has learned to 
shirk. That shows that she has grown selfish. 
In compensation for the fun, her character 
suffers. And she finds fault. I know that 
from the way her mother talked to my mother 
the other day. She criticizes the pictures and 
the furniture and all the family and the neigh- 
bors. She is always comparing things here 
with things at college. Even the scenery 
doesn’t suit her. She must be downright dis- 
agreeable to have around. Once a long time 
ago I heard Mrs. Blake say that it would break 
their hearts if Nancy should come back from 


In the Library 323 

college and be dissatisfied with her home. And 
she is dissatisfied.” 

“ My dear! ” The distressed woman turned 
squarely upon the girl. “ Are you glad ? ” 

“ Oh, no, no! But, Miss King, you don’t 
know. You don’t understand. You went to 
college. You cannot sympathize with a girl 
who has been robbed of that chance. I wanted 
to go. Oh, I wanted it! I wanted it! I 
want it still. But instead of that — instead of 
all that Nancy has had — I have been poked 
away in a corner here at home. The same 
thing over and over every day — the library 
work, tending the children, helping with the 
housework. And Nancy has had all that I 
wanted — full measure, pressed down, running 
over. Oh, it isn’t fair!” 

Rosemary was breathing hard. 

“ And then she comes home and tells me 
that I cannot even begin to realize what I have 
missed. She says it would have been the re- 
gret of her life if she had not gone to college. 
She says that to me” 

“ Read the essay again, Rosemary. Emer- 
son says : 4 In the nature of the soul is the com- 
pensation for the inequalities of condition. If 


324 When *Jean and I Were Sophomores 

I feel overshadowed and outdone by great 
neighbors, I can yet love ; I can yet receive ; and 
he that loveth maketh his own the grandeur he 
loves.’ ” 

The girl looked up with an alert spark in the 
depths of her eyes; but at a glimpse of the 
college pin at her companion’s throat the gleam 
of responsiveness flickered out. Her mouth 
curved downward drearily. 

“ Yes, I noticed that too. It is all right, I 
suppose, but I am not noble enough to care 
much about that kind of compensation. I 
want things myself now. Emerson was quite 
old, wasn’t he, when he wrote that? ” 

“ How old is old to you, Rosemary? ” ques- 
tioned the woman lightly, seeking to relax the 
tension of the other’s mood. “ I can remem- 
ber when sixteen seemed entirely grown up. 
By the way, at that age your mother and I 
were schoolmates. Is your mother well? ” 

“ Very well, thank you.” She frowned 
steadily ahead for an abstracted minute. 
“ That is one reason why I cannot reconcile 
myself. I have not been needed at home ex- 
cept to contribute a few dollars that are not 
absolutely essential, I suspect. Did I make a 


In the Library 325 

mistake to throw up my chance two years ago? 
My ticket was bought and everything ready. 
Was it a mistake to stay home? If only I 
could be sure that it was not a mistake, I might 
not feel so unhappy now.” 

Miss King, wondering also if it had been a 
mistake, was silent. 

“ It was not necessary for me to give it up, 
you know. The family could have managed 
without me. If my mother had been frail, I 
should have known that I had no right to leave 
her alone without a servant, when everything 
went to smash two years ago. But she seemed 
stronger than I was then. She felt worse 
about my disappointment than I did myself. 
But lately she appears to be changing. She 
has got over being sorry. I think she forgets. 
After all, even a mother cannot understand 
how her daughter feels about giving up col- 
lege. She keeps talking about the blessed- 
ness of being all together. She says she 
dreads the time when the family will begin to 
scatter.” 

“ Mothers are like that,” said Miss King. 

Rosemary shook her rebellious shoulders. 

“ It was a mistake for me not to go to col- 


326 When Jean and I W zre Sophomores 

lege when I had the chance. I am almost sure 
it was a mistake. My mother was willing 
then. She was anxious to have me go. But 
I insisted on giving it up. I saw it was a 
relief to Father when I decided to stay and 
help instead of being an expense.” 

“ It is not too late now,” suggested the older 
woman. “ Isn’t there some way to man- 


Rosemary flung out both hands. 

“ Mother has changed, I tell you. She does 
not want me to go away now. She is different. 
I’ve been hoping and hoping, but every time I 
begin to speak of college, she looks queer and 
talks about the blessedness of being all to- 
gether for a while longer anyhow. I can’t 
bear to have her watch me as if she were 

afraid — afraid ” The girl’s underlip 

quivered suddenly. “ I do love my home,’* 
she said, “ but I want college, too.” 

“ Rosemary! ” called a new voice. “ Rose- 
mary, oh, Rosemary! Wait a minute. I 
have a message for you.” Nancy came flying 
breathless down the street. “ Rosemary, they 
want you at home. I passed your little brother 
a minute ago. At the library they told him 


In the Library 327 

you had gone out to luncheon. He says he 
must find you right away, because your 
mother ” 

Terror sprang into Rosemary’s eyes. She 
clutched Nancy’s arm. “Quick! What 
is it?” 

“ Oh, no, no! Rosemary, it isn’t that. I 
did not mean to frighten you. It is not an 
accident or anything of that kind. It is only 
that the doctor thinks your mother ought to 
go to the hospital for a few days, and she wants 
to see you first. Oh, Rosemary, don’t look like 
that. Nothing has happened to her. She 
isn’t in bed or anything. The doctor will tell 
you. It isn’t necessary to run.” 

Nancy drew a long breath as Rosemary 
vanished around the nearest corner. Turning 
to greet her old friend and teacher, she mingled 
hand-clasps, smiles and inquiries with a rapid 
explanation of her message to Rosemary. 

“ The doctor decided suddenly this morning. 
It is awfully sad. Nobody knew that Rose- 
mary’s mother was not well. She kept up and 
around, went to church and attended to the 
house as usual. I don’t believe that even 
Rosemary suspected how she was suffering. 


328 When yean and I Were Sophomores 

Perhaps the operation will save her life. I am 
so sorry for the family. Poor Rosemary ! ” 

During the next few days Miss King 
thought often of the home so overshadowed. 
On the third afternoon she overtook Rosemary 
on the steps of the library. 

At sound of her name, the girl swung around 
in swift response. One glimpse of her face 
was sufficient. 

“Oh, Miss King!” She put out both 
hands. “ Mother is going to get well. She is 
free from pain now for the first time in a long 
while. And she never told me. Think of it, 
Miss King! She was suffering, and I did not 
know it. She never told me, her eldest daugh- 
ter. I was so busy being sorry for myself that 
I did not notice anything wrong. I was hop- 
ing to get away from home. I might have 
gone. I might have left her ” 

Impatiently Rosemary brushed the drops 
from her lashes. 

“ My mother says that it helped to have me 
at home. She was glad that I did not go to 
college two years ago. She has needed me. 
It was not a mistake, Miss King. I know now 
that it was not a mistake when I decided to 


In the Library 329 

give it all up and stay home. What if I had 
gone — when my mother needed me! ” 

A wonderful smile flickered about her lips 
and brightened upward to her radiant eyes. 

“ I’ve found out that college is not the great- 
est thing in the world,” she said. 


Another Story by the Same Author : 
BEATRICE LEIGH AT COLLEGE 



































































































































































































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